


Secrets Kept

by Meraad



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Pining, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-15 03:23:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 44,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28681782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meraad/pseuds/Meraad
Summary: A tryst that was meant to be inconsequential, a pleasurable escape for both parties ends up turning into far more than either bargained for.
Relationships: Cullen Rutherford/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 257
Kudos: 134





	1. Chapter 1

Hands braced against the edge of the desk, fingers curling so as not to disturb the mess of papers that littered the surface, Clara angled her hips, rising up onto the tips of her toes as the man rucked her skirts up and entered her in a smooth thrust that had the air leaving her lungs. He stilled, held himself there for several long beats, then he withdrew almost completely, the engorged head the only part left inside as he shifted his hands to grip her hips, her dress now pooled over them.

Clara bit down on her lower lip, braced herself, and only let out a tiny squeak when he thrust back inside, the length of him filling her so deeply. Dropping her head forward and closing her eyes, her hair slid forward, a curtain around her face as she focused on not making a sound, the scouts outside too close. As always, his thrusts were measured, steady. Pleasure simmered low in her belly.

Familiar with the rhythm of his thrusts, the sounds of his breathing, the sharper exhales as he grew closer to meeting that blissful end. Clara felt his pace quicken, then one of his hands left her hip, slid around, through the curls at the juncture of her thighs where he found that sensitive nub of flesh and began to circle it, her own damp desire causing the leather of the gloves he still wore to slip over it so deliciously. 

Clara held her breath, desperate to not make a sound. These moments were private, secret. He wanted no one to know. Wanted no chance of the Inquisitor finding out. His forehead pressed against the back of her shoulder, his body curling forward, and Clara shuddered through her release, his finger still rubbing against her clit as his thrusts lost their measured pace, and became rougher, harder thrusts as his breath came out his nose in harsh puffs, until with one last hard thrust, his hands gripping her hips so tightly, as his cock pulsed inside of her.

For the few heartbeats that he stood with his chest against her back, his breath on her neck, Clara reveled in it. His chest plate and bracers lay discarded on the desk, which was a rarity. She had no illusions about what went on between the two of them. The Commander was very much in love with another woman, and she was nothing more than a servant, who had stumbled her way into this arrangement.

It was sex. Fucking. Three nights a week, save for the rare night she found the door barred. He had never offered an explanation and she never asked. Usually with her bent just so against his desk, though occasionally he pinned her to the stone wall, her legs around his waist, as he thrust into her. And if she happened to be suffering through that bloody time of the month, Clara still would come to him, and use her hands and mouth on him. 

It was all crystal clear for Clara, but she wondered if lines blurred for the Commander. If he’d close his eyes and pretend. The Inquisitor was slender and tall, her hair a long sheet that held so many colors from pale blonde to rich mahogany. It was no wonder nearly everyone was in love with her and had quite willingly gone to bed with her if the rumor was to be believed. Save for the Commander. So Clara wondered if he’d try to imagine her as the Inquisitor, though she was short, and far too soft and round to ever be mistaken for the other woman, and her hair barely reached her shoulders the color a dark brown that more resembled trampled mud after a storm. 

The Commander withdrew and Clara felt the trickle of his release on the insides of her thighs, it took another moment for her to ease her grip on the desk, and force her body upright again. As always, he turned away, in shame or to offer her up a bit of privacy, perhaps both in equal measure. Clara crossed to where a basin of water sat, a clean cloth beside it, as there always was, and had been since the second time she had come to him like this. 

The water still held some warmth, and she appreciated the gesture. With her back to him, Clara dunked the cloth in the water and wrang it out, before hiking up her skirts and doing her best to clean herself up while she listened to him straightening his own clothing, and pull his armor back on. _Unusual_ , she thought, _considering the late hour_. Rinsing the cloth in the water again, she squeezed out the water again and left it hanging on the edge of the basin as she glanced over at the Commander as he finished tugging the strap of his gauntlet taught.

He looked up, met her gaze, and even in the dim candlelight, she saw his cheeks turn pink. “A meeting,” he said, by way of explanation, when they both knew he owed her none. But he picked up a discarded piece of paper and held it up. She caught sight of the looping signature at the bottom. 

_Ellana Lavellan._

He returned the note to the desk and reached up, rubbing a gloved hand over the back of his neck. The same gloved hand that had been between her thighs only minutes ago. The thought had her own cheeks burning and she inclined her head slightly. “Good night, Commander,” she said. Then tugged the kerchief from her pocket, and made quick work of draping it over her head, and tying it at the nape of her neck as she crossed to the door. Then she gathered the basket she had left by the door that held the linens from his bed that she had earlier stripped and remade and she slipped out into the night. 

A soldier on patrol glanced over but dismissed her the second he saw her. Just the laundress. Another servant not worth noticing. It was what made the entire arrangement so easy. She went utterly unnoticed, even when the scouts or soldiers looked right at her, they didn’t see her. It didn’t matter the absurdly late hour.

Clara made her way down the stairs and across the vast courtyard near the barn and stables. Up another flight of stairs, where one door led to the kitchens and the other led down another steep flight into the laundry room. It was quiet there now, empty, and Clara blinked several times as her eyes adjusted to the dark. A gift from her Dwarven father, impeccable night vision. The large doors that opened out into the laundry’s private courtyard where linens and clothing were hung to dry during the day were closed and barred for the night.

Dumping her basket containing the dirty sheets into the bin, she left the laundry room, up the stairs, out the door, down the stairs, and across the courtyard, down more stairs to the servants quarters, where Clara was grateful to have her own room, despite its tiny size, it was her own. After lighting a candle, Clara stripped down to her shift and tumbled onto the low bed, and stared up at the ceiling. 

She was lucky, she reminded herself. The Inquisition actually paid its servants with more than just room and board. Her last employers had thought that more than enough compensation, along with the one afternoon a week off. Here she was given evenings off and paid a salary that meant she could visit the tavern for supper, or buy a new dress when the old one was tattered beyond all repair, and still have money left to tuck away for whatever the future may hold for her.


	2. Chapter 2

Cullen stared down at the paper in front of him, a frown on his face as he read Ellana’s recount of the dragon she and her companions had taken on in the Hinterlands. Along with destroying a red lyrium deposit. He worried for her, but her companions were strong, as was she, which was what had attracted him to her from the start. 

The moment he’d seen Ellana leap onto the back of a demon, arrow knocked, and save the lives of more than just a few soldiers that day on the battlefield, Cullen had been smitten. She was beautiful, yes, but it was also the way she’d so easily stepped into the role of leadership, how she navigated disputes with such grace that neither party felt slighted. 

It only stung his pride a bit, or at least, that is what he told himself, that Ellana made it no secret of who she took to her bed, and that he was not one of them. Even in that, no one seemed to mind that they only held her attention for so long. A giggling young woman at the tavern who had sighed wistfully recounting the week she’d spent in the Inquisitor’s favor. The Iron Bull, whose lap Ellana would perch on every now and then before the two would disappear together. 

And perhaps he was a fool for holding out hope that one day she might look at him and see how good they could be together.

The side door opened and he barely glanced up from his work. Clara hesitated in the doorway for a beat, which he thought strange. She never hesitated. Even the day she walked through a door he’d known he’d locked when he’d been so restless in his own skin. She’d simply glanced over, seen him sprawled in his chair, fisting his cock, and continued over to the ladder up to his quarters. _“Are you expecting a hand with that?”_ she’d asked, then disappeared up into the loft.

But now she hesitated before she began to cross the room. Cullen kept his head down, though his attention was now fully focused on her. She was limping. Not terribly, but there was a definite unevenness in her gait.

“You’re limping,” he murmured.

“It’s nothing,” her tone held a sharp bite. Then she stopped at the base of the ladder, hands reaching up to grip the rungs she simply stood there. “Why can’t you sleep in a normal room like a normal person?” Her snapped out words had him blinking at her in surprise.

They spoke little to each other, though she came to him several times a week and had for just over the last two months. Often the only words murmured were her pleasantly wishing him good night before leaving. “What’s wrong?” he asked, getting to his feet. Clara shook her head, and as he closed in on her, she put one foot up on the bottom rung and winced. 

Then he saw it, the faint bruise on her cheek, her lip swollen and split. A slow-simmering anger began to build. “Who hit you?” he demanded, reaching out to grasp her chin between thumb and forefinger, angling her head to allow him a better look in the low candlelight.

“No one hit- ow!” Clara slapped his hand away when his thumb grazed just below the cut. “I said it’s nothing,” she bit out, glaring at him.

“Then why does it look like someone punched you in the face, and how do you explain away the limping?”

Hands on her hips she let out a huff of air. “It’s fine. It’s none of your business.” 

A part of Cullen felt amused seeing this spark of anger, seeing who this quiet woman actually was. But then he had the sinking feeling of dread. Did she have a husband? One who beat her when she came to him because she believed she had no other choice? “Clara, if someone hit you-”

She made a quiet sound of frustration and reached up, yanking the kerchief from her hair to then run her fingers through the short locks. “No one hit me,” she told him, shaking her head. “I fell. Because I’m a stupid, clumsy idiot.” Clara took a step and he saw the pain cross her face again.

“Why haven’t you seen a healer,” he demanded, crossing his arms over his chest because it was obvious that she hadn’t. 

“I said it’s fine,” she sighed, waving her hand. “It’ll be fine in a day or two-” She reached down, absently rubbing a hand against her left hip. “It isn’t a big deal, I’ll just-” Clara cast a glance up the ladder.

“The bedding will keep,” he said because it was ridiculous how often she changed the sheets as her excuse for being there. He was certain the servants thought him an ass demanding they be changed nearly every other day when half the time he felt he’d barely even slept in his bed. “Tell me what happened, and why you refuse to see a healer.” Cullen nudged her toward the desk and she opened her mouth snapped it shut and took the limping steps to the side of the desk.

Her hand going to the grip the edge made him feel like the worst kind of bastard. Did she really think he planned to bend her over and fuck her when she was so obviously in pain? He continued to his chair, sat down, and then reached out, his fingers curling in the fabric of her skirt and tugged. “Over here,” he said and he saw the look of confusion as he pulled her closer, then gripping her waist he lifted her onto the edge of his desk in front of him.

“Oh, what are you- your papers-” her hands fluttered and she moved her legs as if to jump back down, but Cullen held her there, pulling his chair closer to block her escape.

“Do you have a problem with mages?” he asked curious. It wasn’t unusual, he still sometimes found himself hesitant to seek them out for injuries.

Her hands still fluttered slightly, as if unsure what to do with them. “What? Oh, no, that isn’t-” Clara shook her head, her hair swaying with the movement. “I don’t mind the mages.”

“Then why, if someone didn’t do this to you, haven’t you gone to a healer.” 

Clara’s hands finally settled into her lap and she let out a quiet sigh. “It’s the magic,” she told him. “Have you ever had them heal something?” he inclined his head. “When I was six I fell out of a tree, broke my arm. My parents, they-” she sunk her teeth into her lower lip, seemed to hesitate. “There was an apostate in the next village, my parents took me and he set the bone and put his hands over my arm, to heal it, but, it made my skin crawl. It didn’t hurt, but, it was worse than the break. My father’s a dwarf, they think that might be why I reacted that way,” she gave a shrug. “Allergic to magic,” she let out a quiet laugh. “That’s why I didn’t go to the healers, it’s fine, really.” 

“May I?” Cullen asked, his fingers sliding down to dip under the hem of her skirt.

“Commander,” she breathed, shaking her head. “It’s fine, you don’t need to bother yourself-” His fingers grazed up her calf, felt the thick woolen stockings then up to her knee. Cullen realized as he glanced up at Clara, her cheeks pink, lips parted, that in the weeks of their arrangement, he’d never seen her naked. Her bare rump before he sank into her. But beyond that, they made quick work of getting each other off.

 _Maker’s breath_ , he hoped he was getting her off. He felt a wash of mortification at the thought. But she wouldn’t keep returning, if she didn’t enjoy it, unless- “You know that you do not have to come here, to me, like this,” he said suddenly, his hand resting against her knee beneath her skirts. “Clara, your job is not dependant on allowing me to-” he felt his cheeks burn hot.

A smile curved the corner of her mouth. “I know that, Commander,” she murmured. “It’s something to enjoy while it lasts.” One shoulder lifted in a shrug. “I’m no love-struck foolish girl, Commander. I’ve seen the way you look at her,” he flinched in surprise at her words, but she still gave him that little smile. “It’s alright. I know my place.”

Her words left an odd sensation in his chest and Cullen frowned as he lowered his head to his task of once more pushing her skirts up. “Maker’s breath, Clara,” he gasped out. A dark bruise ran from knee to hip on her left leg, and he thought it was a wonder she could even walk. “What in the void happened?”

“I fell,” she said, her cheeks a darker shade of red now. “I told you, I was stupid. Three of the other woman in the laundry room are out with some stomach thing and so I picked up some of the slack. Have you been to the laundry room?” she asked and he shook his head, before reaching for one of the drawers where he began to rummage around. “The stairs are very steep. I should have made two trips, but I didn’t. My shoe caught on my skirt, and-” she made the soft frustrated sound again. “And I fell. Slammed my leg against the stairs and I smacked my face on the basket as it spilled.” 

Finding the little ceramic pot he’d been searching for he set it on the desk and looked up at her. “You’re lucky you didn’t break your neck from the sound of it.” She huffed, arms crossing over her middle. Removing the lid from the jar he glanced up at her, found her watching him. “It isn’t magic, just a salve that helps with minor bruises and aches. This one isn’t minor, but hopefully, it’ll help-” he hesitated. “If you don’t mind?” 

“Alright,” Clara spoke softly and Cullen dipped his fingers into the jar and tried to be gentle as he spread it over the bruise and rubbed it in. Her skin was warm beneath his palm and he silently cursed his growing erection. 

“Your mother isn’t a dwarf?” he asked, going back to their earlier conversation, anything to distract him.

“Human,” Clara told him, shifting slightly, he saw her reaching down, tugging the various papers that he’d set her on free, and stacking them into a neat pile. “They are disgustingly in love, even after all these years,” her tone held amusement and joy.

“Are they safe?” Cullen asked, the salve long since absorbed into her skin, but he continued to stroke her thigh.

Clara nodded. “They are, a lot of the violence has bypassed their little village, but mom has kept them well-stocked in swords and armor.” 

This had Cullen looking up in surprise. “Your mother has?”

“She’s a blacksmith.” Cullen’s brows shot up and Clara let out a quiet, delighted little laugh. “My father prefers gardening, but he does help out in the forge from time to time, but it’s my mother’s pride and joy.” 

“She’d be an asset to the Inquisition,” he said.

Clara’s face fell, all traces of amusement vanishing with the shake of her head. “Absolutely not,” she said. “I was in Haven when we were attacked, I saw-” her eyes went liquid and Cullen regretted his words. He’d meant them in jest.

“Clara,” he said shaking his head. “I’m sorry, I understand, I didn’t truly mean it.” He got to his feet, dipped a fingertip into the jar once more, and with her jaw cupped in one hand, he applied it to the bruise on her cheek. She was quiet as he worked, and when he was satisfied, he continued to stand there, between her legs, fingertips gently tracing the curve of her cheek. 

“Did you want-” her eyes darted to the side, to the spot where he most often rucked up her skirts. 

Of course, he wanted her, wanted to bury himself in her wet heat and lose himself for those few moments. But he knew her leg still pained her, despite what she might claim otherwise. He wasn’t the most experienced in sex, a handful of fumbling experiences in Kinloch Hold, before, before everything. He didn’t think Clara was so inexperienced, so obviously he was doing something right. “Yes,” he said, but held her in place when she would have slid off the desk. “But stay where you are.” She did, watching him, her brows drawing together as he sunk down into his chair.

He dragged it closer, then reached out, hands on her hips, and tugged her to the edge of his desk, her legs on either side of him, her skirts still gathered at her knees. Cullen swallowed hard. There was an intimacy to what he was planning on doing, one that he’d thought to reserve for- his cheeks burned. Clara had taken his cock in her mouth, let him come on her tongue, the least he could do was return the favor, right?

“Commander, what are you-” her breath hitched as he lowered his head to kiss the inside of her knee. 

“I think you can call me Cullen, at this point,” he murmured, pushing her skirts up a bit higher, he pressed a kiss to the other knee.

“That would be,” a quiet gasp when he rubbed his stubbled jaw against her skin. “Improper.” 

Cullen couldn’t help the quiet chuckle that escaped him as he slid one hand behind her knee, tugging it over and over his shoulder. “Improper?” he asked, licked up the inside of her thigh. The heady scent of her desire hit his nostrils and he nearly groaned. Why had he not considered doing this before?


	3. Chapter 3

Turning his head, he repeated the lick on the other side, then gently nuzzled the dark curls at the juncture of her thighs. Clara made a quiet sound, arched, and her thighs flexed beneath his hands. When he nosed deeper, his lips finding petal-soft damp flesh he barely stifled a moan. Clara was holding herself immobile, one of her hands had curled around the edge of the desk, gripping it so tightly her knuckles had gone white, and she wasn’t breathing. 

Glancing up over pools of fabric he found her watching him, lips parted, eyes glazed over, waiting. He pressed his tongue to her wet lower lips, parted them as he licked up, over her slit, higher to that little bud that he knew brought her pleasure. “Oh!” something crashed to the floor, Clara’s thighs clamped against his head and he felt her body bow as the hand that hadn’t shot backward to find purchase tangled into his hair. 

He licked her again, moaned, felt her shudder, and grabbed hold of her hips beneath her skirts. He explored her with lips and tongue, parting her folds, sucking them gently into his mouth. He teased her clit with the tip of his tongue and soft sucking kisses. Clara was panting, soft gasping breaths that had his cock growing even harder. 

Cullen cursed himself ten times a fool. She’d always been so silent when he’d taken her, he’d had no idea how much he’d enjoy the noises she’d make. The heel of one of her feet dug into his back between his shoulders, the fingers in his hair tugged almost painfully and he relished every second of it. Licking over her slit, her slick desire coating his tongue he did it again, then again until she was trembling. 

Then he licked his way up to her clit, latched on with his lips, and drawing one hand from her hip, he brushed his fingertips along her opening before sliding one finger inside. “Cullen!” Her cry wasn’t loud, but it rang in his ears as she collapsed fully back on his desk, her back arching, hips pressing up against his mouth.

Cullen withdrew his finger, then added a second, pushed inside, and began to slowly fuck her, all the while suckling her clit. She was soaking wet, practically dripping with desire and the way her inner walls clamped around his fingers made him want to stand up, yank open his breeches and plunge inside. He’d been a cad, he realized, while she may have found some pleasure in their previous trysts, he’d missed the mark by a long shot. 

“Oh! There!” she gasped out as his fingertips grazed the front of her inner walls. He redoubled his efforts, rubbing that spot while circled her clit with the tip of his tongue again and again. 

All the sound in the world went muffled as Clara’s thighs squeezed tighter against his head, her inner walls contracted, clutching around his fingers. Cullen didn’t stop, he felt drunk on her pleasure, and kept up the steady thrust of his fingers, until what felt like a lifetime later when she jerked, shoved at him, though her legs were still wound around his shoulders. “Stop, stop, no more,” she begged quietly. 

Only then did he lift his head and carefully draw her legs off his shoulders and move to stand, his hands braced on the desk as he peered down at her. Her head hung off the other side of the desk, exposing the long column of her throat. Her tunic was damp with sweat and clung to her skin, to the breasts that heaved with each breath she sucked in. 

Sweat had his own tunic clinging to his shoulders he realized as he looked down at her. Clara lifted her head slightly, then he felt her hands at his waistband, tugging the laces free, then her fingers, calloused but gentle, curled around his cock, hard and throbbing beneath her touch. He cursed softly, was about to object. He hadn’t intended- all thought shut off when she rubbed the head between her lower lips. Cullen’s hips bucked, driving his cock inside her, spearing through to the hilt. “Maker’s breath,” he rasped, his forehead falling against her breastbone as her still quivering walls gripped him. 

“Stones,” she breathed out, head falling back once more. Throat exposed once more, Cullen ran his tongue from collarbone to jaw, tasted the salt of her sweat as he slowly withdrew and thrust back in. Her fingernails bit into his sides through his tunic, small sharp pains that only made him want to thrust faster, harder. Drawing back enough to rip his tunic over his head, he leaned down, felt her nails scrape welts over his sides and he moaned, all the while steadily thrusting his cock inside of her. 

Her nipples were visible through her tunic, sharp pebbled points. He latched onto one, through the fabric, and sucked while dropping his hands to her hips, and dragging her down so that her lower body was held aloft. One arm banded around her waist as he pounded into her, the other came up to cup and knead her neglected breast. 

This was how he wanted her from now on, spread out on his desk, gasping and holding onto him like he was the only thing keeping her from drifting away. “Yes, yes, yes,” she chanted and Cullen knew his end was fast approaching. Releasing her breast, he shoved his hand down between them, rubbed his thumb over her clit in fast circles matching the pace of his thrusts.

Clara’s breath locked in her throat, her thighs gripped his sides, and her inner walls, already tight around his cock clamped tighter, milking him as a low keening sound began to escape her lips. Knowing there were likely scouts close by, desperate to keep anyone from hearing this, from hearing her, Cullen captured her mouth with his, stifling the noise even he let out his own deep groan of pleasure, pressing deeper, deeper, until he felt her end and his cock throbbed as the orgasm shot through him. 

Breaking the kiss, though he didn’t pull away, just continued panting against her mouth as he tried to will any little bit of energy into his limbs. “Well, that was-” she was breathing just as hard as he was, her ankles still locked at the base of his spine, her nails buried in his back. Cullen grunted in agreement, and finally, finally, managed to push up onto his elbows. Clara was a disheveled mess, cheeks flushed, her throat marred from his kisses and stubble. The front of her tunic bore a large semi-transparent wet spot over one breast. 

Her legs fell away and he noted the marks on her thighs, more stubble burn, and hickeys on delicate skin. Collapsing back into his chair, Clara drew her thighs together, one hand pushing at her skirts. “I should- I need to go.” She pushed herself up until she was braced against the edge of the desk, her skirts cascading down to her ankles once more. 

Clara ran a hand over her hair, down the front of her shirt, and looked around. They’d made noise. So much noise. _Stones ancestors,_ she’d had no idea a mouth could feel _so_ good between her thighs. Her legs were still unsteady and glancing down at herself, she was a mess. So obviously, thoroughly fucked. “I need to go,” she said again, glancing at the Commander who sat, shirtless, his breeches barely resting on his hips, his cock still wet from their joining. The evidence of which was now dripping obscenely down her thighs. “I need to go,” she whispered, trying to tell her legs to move. 

“Clara,” Cullen’s voice held a hint of concern.

A laugh bubbled free and she clamped her hand over her mouth. Sex hadn’t been bad with him before. Between his fingers and his cock, she’d always left satisfied, but that, that had blown her mind and she was still trying to catch up. “I’ll see you in a few days, Commander,” she told him, taking a step, her hand braced on the edge of the desk. 

The pain in her thigh was still there, but gratefully, not bad as it was. Either from the salve he’d rubbed in, or because she was high from her orgasm.

“Back to Commander, is it?” he asked, standing. He tugged up his breeches, tucking himself away as he fastened them, and then found his tunic and pulled it over his head.

“I told you,” Clara said, not bothering to head for the washbasin this time, she just grabbed her basket and straightened up to find Cullen standing a few feet away. “It’s improper,” but her cheeks were flushed and there was a faint smile on his lips. “Scandalous, even,” she said, and couldn’t stop her own smile from curving over her lips. 

“May I scandalize you again, Clara?” 

Ducking her head, she took a step, but he stopped her, tucking the little jar of salve into her basket. “I’ll see you in a few days,” she repeated and this time when she headed for the door, he didn’t stop her. “Good night, Commander.”

There wasn’t a scout outside this time and she was grateful, knowing it would only take one look for someone to know exactly what they had been doing. But also, it worried her, because if they had heard something. A few days. She’d known within those few days before she came to him again if there were any rumors.


	4. Chapter 4

“You know, you’re not fooling anyone.” Clara narrowed her eyes at her friend who knelt on the other side of the wide basin, elbow-deep in the steaming murky water as they scrubbed and scrubbed.

“I don’t know-”

“It’s hotter than the sun in here, and you’ve got a scarf on,” she chided. 

Annoyed, Clara reached up and yanked the offending garment from around her throat. Etta was right. It was sweltering down in the laundry room, and it wasn’t as if these people didn’t know exactly why she went and  _ changed  _ the Commander’s sheets so often. The servants always knew that kind of gossip. 

“Maker,” Etta’s eyes went wide.

“Oh, hush, it isn’t that bad,” Clara threw the scarf down beside her and shoved her hands back into the water, ignoring the stinging pain in the cracks over her knuckles. Her throat was red, marred quite obviously from someone’s stubble. “Do you know if the soldiers suspect anything?” she asked quietly because it was one thing for her fellow servants to know. The soldiers were something completely different. They weren’t quiet in their gossip and Clara would hate for word of it to spread about the Commander. 

Etta shook her head. “Rylen hasn’t said anything,” she replied. 

“Would he though?” Clara asked, brows lifting. Etta and Rylen had hooked up casually months earlier in Haven, and Clara suspected that it might be getting serious for the two. It made Clara happy because Etta deserved to have someone dote on her, and Rylen definitely did.

The smile that graced her lovely features only made Clara like the Knight-Captain more. “You’d be surprised by our pillow talk,” Etta grinned, then she squeezed the water from the garment she’d been scrubbing and tossed it into the basket before moving onto the next item. “He’s never left a mark before,” she continued, inclining her head. “Well, at least not where anyone could see.” Clara’s skin heated at the memory of the other marks he’d left. “Is he finally going to stop panting after  _ her _ ?”

“Etta!” Clara snapped, her tone sharp. Her friend raised her brows, but Clara just shot her a look. “We’re not talking about this,” she said and tossed the sodden garments into her own basket to carry them outside. She braced the basket against her good hip, the other one still sore, though the salve Cullen had given her had helped immensely.

Etta appeared a few moments later, her own basket in hand, squinting against the bright sun. “You can’t just walk in here with a hickey the size of Antiva on your neck and not tell me anything.”

“You’ll read more into it than it deserves,” Clara shook her head. 

“You’ve been fucking the man for two months, and he just left a mark for the first time.”

“That you know of,” Clara shot back, but Etta just gave her a look that clearly said she knew better. Huffing, Clara began hanging up the garments on the line. “I was limping,” she said and glanced at Etta who furrowed her brows. “From my uh… fall.” Her cheeks burned at the memory because while there hadn’t been many witnesses to her tumble, there had been enough, including the head laundress who had given Clara a very stern talking to for her carelessness. 

“And he… I don’t know. I don’t know what changed, why-” she shook her head because it was the best sex she’d ever had. “I mentioned my aversion to magic, he rubbed a salve into my leg and… then we…” her cheeks flushed brighter and she ducked her head. Ancestors, but his mouth had been amazing. She squeezed her thighs together at the memory of it. 

And maybe Etta was right, and the Commander was beginning to let go of his infatuation with the Inquisitor, but Clara didn’t think so. She’d seen the papers he’d set her on, the collection of reports from Lady Lavellan that dated back months. It was what he’d been looking at when she’d come in, she was certain. But that wasn’t any of her business.

Even if Clara was certain that, in the unlikely event that the Inquisitor did take the Commander to her bed, she’d end up breaking his heart. Ellana Lavellan seemed too fickle for a long-lasting relationship. But, maybe Clara was wrong, and the Inquisitor would fall madly in love with Cullen and the two would live happily ever after. She hoped that would be the case anyway.

When Clara glanced up Etta was looking at her, brows raised. “Well, maybe I should fall down the stairs and see what kind of reaction I get from Rylen,” she was grinning broadly and Clara picked up the next tunic, balled it up, and flung it at her laughing friend.

It was mid-day a few days later when Clara made her way up to Cullen’s office. It wasn’t her usual evening for their assignation, no that had been the night before, and Clara was still delightfully aching from his ministrations, but with the handful of others out sick this week, it had thrown everything off schedule. 

Pushing open the door, Clara expected the room to be empty, but was surprised to find Cullen standing at the other door, his hands braced against it, his head down. “Oh.”

“What are you-” he sucked in a pained sounding breath, “doing here?”

“Laundry, we’re still trying to catch up from-” she broke off. “Are you alright?”

“Get out,” he bit out the words and Clara blinked in surprise, then dread settled low in her belly. The Inquisitor had found out. And he was going to blame it on her? But before her anger, or disbelief had a chance to grow, she watched Cullen lunge to the side, go down on his knees over the waste bin, and then he was retching.

Setting down her basket, Clara made sure the door was latched and crossed to him and sunk down onto her knees beside him. “Commander-”

“Are you ever going to-” he gagged, spat in the bin. “Stop calling me that?”

“No,” she said, a smile in her voice. “Should I go fetch a healer?”

“No,” he said though there was no smile in his tone. Lifting his head, Clara saw his eyes were clenched shut, and he pressed his hand over them.

“Do  _ you  _ have a problem with magic?” she asked, nudging the bin out of the way slightly, though not far, in case he needed to throw up again.

Cullen lifted his free hand, reaching out, he poked her shoulder, then fumbled up to clamp his palm over her mouth. “Shh,” he breathed and Clara watched him for a moment. 

Then she reached up and tugged his hand from her mouth. “Headache?” she asked, very softly and he gave a slight nod. “No healers?”

A tiny shake. “They don’t help, not with this.” 

_ What is this? _ She wanted to ask but bit her tongue. Glancing up, she frowned at the bright light pouring in from the gaping hole in his ceiling. “If you had normal quarters, like a normal person, this would be much easier,” she muttered. The light, Clara suspected, was making his head hurt worse. Glancing around she debated what to do, how to help him. Fetch a healer, or at the very least, Rylen. Surely he would know how to help his friend. 

“I need to see the sky at night,” Cullen told her, and she watched him for a long, long moment. Then after reaching out to squeeze his shoulder she got up, climbed the ladder to his loft, and tugged the quilt off the bed. Dropping it over the edge before she descended, Clara gathered it into her arms, and using books to weigh down two corners over his desk, she draped it over the back of his chair as well, creating a dark little cave beneath his desk.

“Come here,” she murmured and began tugging at his bracers. He didn’t resist. Setting them aside, she went to work on his chest plate, but he caught her hands, his eyes cracked open slightly. 

“Clara?”

“You helped me the other day,” she reminded him. “The least I can do is repay the favor.” He watched her for a second longer, then winced, clenching his eyes shut again and she pulled off his chest plate, removed his mantle, and went so far as to tug off his boots. Glancing up, she saw the corner of his mouth was twisted up into a slight smile. Then Clara nudged him over and under the blanket. “Lay down,” she instructed and he blinked a few times.

“What is- oh, Maker’s breath,” he did as she said, letting out a groan as he did so. “Thank you.”

Clara was easily able to sit under the blanket and only had to duck her head a little to keep from disturbing the makeshift shelter. “Are you sure I can’t get anyone for you? I could track down Knight-Captain Rylen.” 

Cullen angled his head toward her, the sliver of light creeping in from under the end of the blanket not seeming to bother him. “Rylen knows,” he waved a dismissive hand, then that hand caught hers. “Thank you,” he repeated.

Clara blushed and felt silly for it, but the sincerity in his voice made her feel all warm inside. Resting her hand over his, she suddenly felt very aware of her cracked knuckles, and calloused palms. “Why can’t the healers help?” she finally mustered up the courage to ask, and then she regretted it. It was none of her business. They weren’t friends. They were a convenient source of pleasure for the other. “I should go,” she started to pull her hands free, but his grip tightened slightly.

“Did you know I was a Templar?” Cullen asked and Clara stilled.

“Yes,” she murmured. 

“You know we take lyrium?” Of course, it was what had led to the red lyrium corruption in the ranks.

“Yes,” she said again.

Cullen’s thumb began to rub along her knuckles and it took all her willpower not to jerk her hands away. She hadn’t had the chance to rub the thick salve into her hands that all the laundry workers used at the end of the day, and she felt every crack and split beneath his soft thumb. “I stopped taking it when I left Kirkwall. The withdrawal, it… it is a problem sometimes.”

Unable to help herself, Clara reached out and brushed a stray lock of hair from his forehead. “And there is nothing the healers can do?” He made a quiet sound and turned his head into her touch. “Is there anything I can do?”

“This is nice,” he murmured and Clara shifted her weight, moving closer, and began to stroke her fingers through his hair.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Content Warning: BDSM:** A short scene at the end of this chapter involving Bull, rope, and a riding crop. If you'd rather avoid that content, stop reading when Clara is ordered to go to the Inquisitor's quarters. You aren't missing out on anything relevant to the story.

Cullen lay there with his eyes closed, enjoying the feel of Clara’s fingers stroking through his hair. When was the last time someone had done something like this for him? Not since he’d been a child, his mother before he’d left to join the Templars. More than half a lifetime ago. He had planned to eventually make his way up to the loft and collapse into bed, but this, this was far nicer. 

His head ached, through with the light gone it lessened the pain. His stomach still roiled and he could feel the sweat causing his tunic to cling to his skin. It wasn’t the worst he’d felt since he’d stopped taking the lyrium, but it was enough that he knew he’d likely be out for the rest of the day. 

Clara’s fingers stilled in his hair and he felt her grip loosen on the hand he realized he still held. “Do you have siblings?” he asked, keeping his voice low. The question was impulsive, but her presence, this gesture of caring for him was something he wanted to hold onto for a while longer. “You spoke of your parents, but you didn’t mention brothers or sisters.”

Clara made a soft humming sound, her fingers resuming their path through his hair. “I have four younger sisters.

Cullen nearly choked on his breath. “Four?” he asked incredulously. “Maker’s breath.” He couldn’t imagine, the two he’d had was more than enough.

Her quiet laugh had his lips curving, despite how miserable he felt. It was a soft, bubbling sound that always seemed to hold such delight. “I told you, my parents are disgustingly in love,” she reminded him.

“Tell me about them.”

“Well, Minka is the youngest, she’ll be eleven next month, everyone dotes on her, and she pretends to hate it. She’s the most like our mother, I think. Corinna and Iva, are seventeen and twenty-two. Corinna has always wanted to be a pirate, and Iva paints the most beautiful pictures you’ve ever seen. Then, Magda, she’s twenty-six and likes to work in the forge, but she prefers to make pretty things rather than weapons. And they are all still at home in Westwend.” 

There was a note of sadness in her voice when she spoke of Corinna and Iva that left Cullen curious, but he wondered about her. How she was the only one to have left home it seemed. “And then there’s you.” she made that quiet little humming sound again. “How did you end up at Haven? With the Inquisition?”

She was quiet for so long, Cullen wasn’t sure she’d answer him. “The household I was at, it wasn’t bad, it could have been worse. Etta’s previous employer’s were-” she broke off, shook her head. “It wasn’t terrible. But after the explosion at the temple, and the fighting between the mages and the Templars, when people were flocking to Haven… they wouldn’t help them. The house was plenty big enough to take in twenty people or more. They could have helped, but instead, they barred the doors and threatened anyone who so much as stepped on their property. So I left, silly, maybe, but I had hoped that they might take in one of those refugees. I knew I’d be fine to make the trip to Haven. It was stupid, to hope that in their selfishness they’d end up helping someone else. I don’t know if they did, but that’s… that’s how I ended up in Haven.” 

“But why leave Westwend? You seem very fond of your family.” Cullen wondered fleetingly if he’d known the truth about what when on in the Circles, about what it would be like to actually be a Templar if he’d have joined. Likely he still would have, he’d been so naive and young. 

This time she didn’t answer, just carefully tugged her hand free from his. “I should go, let you rest. Besides, I still have that work to catch up on.” 

“Clara-” Cullen reached out, but she was already slipping out from under the blanket, and the light, bright from shining overhead had him wincing and throwing his arm over his eyes against the pain.

“I hope you feel better, Commander,” she called softly and then he lay there, listening as she grabbed her basket and slipped out the door.

Clara let out a quiet curse when she was halfway back to the laundry room and realized she still had the Commander’s clean laundry in her basket. Glancing around, she rushed to her own quarters, because she wasn’t going back up there now. She dumped his clothes out onto her bed and drew in a slow breath. Ancestor’s what had she been thinking?

She should have just gone and gotten the Knight-Captain, to begin with. Or ignored his refusal of the healer. But no, she’d decided it was a good idea to make a fort, like she used to for Iva, and crawl in with him. To stroke his hair, and hold his hand, and talk as if they were friends. And speaking of her sisters, it made her heart ache. She missed them, hadn’t been able to see them in years, never able to take off the time to travel to the small village on the outskirts of Denerim and stay for a while, though they wrote often enough.

Well, Magda wrote, with little stories about what everyone was doing and sent their love along. Iva drew her pictures, pretty sketches of flowers, or of their mother in the workshop. Her favorite was the one of Minka and Corinna, as pirates in a sword fight. 

Running her hands through her hair, she grabbed the now-empty basket and silently swore she’d take his laundry up when she knew he wasn’t there. Or in a few nights when she went to him again, and they didn’t talk. Back in the laundry room, Clara ducked her head, ignoring the knowing look from Etta, and the rather unimpressed sneer from the head laundress. _I wasn’t fucking him_ , she wanted to snap at them both. 

No, instead she was just confessing her life story to him. She couldn’t figure out why he’d asked. Just to be polite, she imagined, and Clara had gone on and on about her sisters when the man had just told her he had a headache. 

Keeping her head down, she threw herself into her work. She felt like an idiot. They weren’t friends, would never even be friends. Not really. What went on between them was meant for dark rooms and secret corners. Quick joinings of pleasure. Not tender moments in the middle of the day. Definitely not whispered stories of pasts and families.

Twenty minutes later the head laundress shouted Clara’s name, jerking her from her quiet thoughts. “Take this up to the Inquisitor’s quarters.” The order a reminder that Clara didn’t need. _This is your place. You are a servant. Do not let a passing indulgence go to your head._

“Yes ma’am,” Clara grabbed the basket and made her way up through the side servant’s door into the main hall and to the Inquisitor’s door. Slipping inside unnoticed, the quiet murmur of voices didn’t reach her ears until she was already at the top landing. Clara blinked in surprise but otherwise kept her face unreadable as the Inquisitor noticed the movement and turned her head. It looked like it was the only thing she could move. 

The Inquisitor was naked, save for the crisscrossing of ropes over her shoulders, between her breasts and down, down between her thighs that were spread wide. It wound around her arms, securing them behind her back. Clara felt her blood heat and hoped that she wasn’t blushing. The Iron Bull was in front of the elven woman, seeming massive in his near-nudity, and in his hand was a riding crop that he held pressed against Ellana’s sex.

“Would you rather I came back later?” Clara asked, grateful for how steady her voice came out. The second employer she’d had, for only a very short time, had delighted in trying to turn her servants into nervous, fumbling wrecks with her antics. Clara distinctly remembered, as a lowly scullery maid, being called into the drawing room to bring tea and finding the woman of the house involved in an outright orgy. It had been such a tangle of limbs, that Clara hadn’t been entirely sure how many were involved, but she’d kept her head then, and would now as well. “It will only take a moment to put these away,” she continued, lifting the basket slightly.

The Iron Bull gave her a look, then nodded. “Go ahead,” he jerked his head toward the dresser and Clara crossed the room, keeping her eyes averted, or at least, trying to, but she kept peeking glances as she began to tuck the clean clothes away into the wardrobe, especially when there was a slap of sound as the crop met flesh.

The Inquisitor let out a hiss of breath but otherwise remained silent. Another slap, a gasp, and Clara pressed her thighs together. She knew the Iron Bull was quite popular among the kitchen staff and she wondered if this was the kind of thing they got up to. Task finished she closed the drawers, gathered her basket once more, and turned to leave, but as she did she caught sight of the Inquisitor again.

Spine bowed with her hair cascading down her back, she was a picture of beauty and strength. This was the woman Cullen Rutherford would end up with or someone like her. Someone powerful, with status and grace. Not a lowly laundress with hands that bled after a long day scrubbing other people’s bedding, like the sheets the Inquisitor currently knelt on. Inclining her head, Clara left the room without another word and returned to the workroom, grateful for the reminder of where exactly she stood in the Inquisition.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit of [Smutty Cullen/Clara art](https://wardenrainwall.tumblr.com/post/640694272523370496/okay-okay-im-done-this-time-ill-stop-deleting) I drew up the other day.
> 
> Also, this chapter wasn't supposed to be all smut. Oops. I swear, there is actual content and plot somewhere.

“I was beginning to think you were holding my clothing hostage,” Cullen’s voice reached her as she began to descend the ladder from his loft.

“I apologize, Commander,” she told him and when she reached the floor she looked at him, her hands still on the ladder Clara just took him in for a moment. Cullen stood leaning against his desk, stripped of his armor, wearing just breeches and a loose tunic. One that he’d likely already worn once this week since she had failed to bring his clean clothes back.

“Is everything alright?” he asked, brows knitting together as he scrutinized her.

“Of course,” she replied, tucking the dirty laundry into the empty basket beside the ladder.

“You didn’t come the other night, I wasn’t sure... “ he trailed off and Clara straightened up and looked at him again. “You can end this at any time, Clara. Just say the word, or, simply not return. You are aware of my feelings for the Inquisitor, and I would not, I will not hold it against you if you want to end this.”

Clara couldn’t help but wonder if Cullen would spend the rest of his days pining for a woman who didn’t want him in the event that the Inquisitor never took him to her bed. “I thought you might still not feel well, I didn’t want to bother you,” she told him, and it wasn’t a lie. Not completely anyway.

Pushing off the desk he closed the distance between them. “If I made you uncomfortable, I apologize, Clara.”

She smiled up at him. “Nonsense.” The hand he cupped her jaw with was calloused, but not rough.

“I appreciate what you did for me the other day, truly. It’s been a long time since-” he broke off, rubbed his thumb along her lower lip. “Thank you.” 

“Of course, Commander.”

“Cullen,” he corrected her and she just smiled. The thumb on her lip pressed, urging her to part her lips and she did, then sucked when his thumb slid into her mouth. He groaned and then tugged his hand away and turned back to the desk. Cullen walked over and sprawled out in his chair and then he looked at her and crooked a finger. “Come here,” he said and Clara was glad that this was where they were again. 

She followed, stepping between his legs, Clara went down to her knees and ran her hands up his thighs to the closure of his breeches. She drew them open and then slipped her fingers inside and found his length. Her hands were still a little slick from all the cream she’d rubbed into them in a vain attempt to soften them. Clara curled her fist around him, stroking a few times before she leaned in and wrapped her lips around the head. 

Hearing his hiss of breath, Clara let her eyes fall shut and let out a soft moan at the feel of his fingers slipping into her hair at the nape of her neck. She found her rhythm bobbing her head in tandem with the pumping of her fist. She didn’t mind it, the salt taste of him on her tongue, the feel of him thick and hard in her mouth. Clara actually enjoyed that sometimes she got him to lose a fraction of that control, fingers tightening in her hair to the point of near pain, or hips bucking in a desperate attempt to get deeper. 

But he always warned her, gave her the choice of whether he could come in her mouth or not. “Clara,” Cullen breathed, the hand not still tangled in her hair brushed knuckles along her cheek. “Stop, stop.” His breathing was labored and Clara lifted her head in surprise. She’d barely gotten started. “I want you in my lap,” he told her.

Not about to object, Clara braced her hands on his thighs and pushed up then gathering her skirts and apron in her hand, she climbed into his lap her knees wedged between his thighs and the padded arms of the chair.

Cullen’s breathing felt jagged as he watched Clara sidle into his lap. Her skirt barely exposing her thighs as she did so. He was grateful that she’d returned tonight, not just because he’d had no clean clothes left, but because he truly enjoyed these escapes with her. Stolen moments of time when he didn’t have to worry or think about anything else. 

When she hadn’t arrived the other day, he’d been certain that seeing him ill, realizing how weak he could be, had left her appalled that the Commander of the Inquisition’s forces was so pathetic. So when he’d opened the door this evening and heard noise up in the loft he’d barely been able to contain his relief. 

Dropping one hand down to her bare knee, Cullen brushed the backs of his knuckles slowly up beneath her skirt. Her skin was flushed from her bare throat to her soft cheeks. His hand continued up higher, while the other reached out, fingering the neckline of her dress. The style was simple, a rich shade of green that made the lighter flecks in her dark brown eyes stand out. “Will you take this off?” he asked because he still hadn’t gotten her naked and he’d scarcely been able to think of anything else. 

There was a slight hesitation, and he halted the slide of his hand up her thigh just a scant few inches from the apex, from the damp heat that he so desperately wanted to fill. Had he stepped over the line?

But she was reaching back, tugging at the ties of the apron around her waist. “Are the doors locked?” she asked him breathlessly. 

“Yes,” Cullen said immediately. He’d locked them as soon as he’d walked in. 

The apron fluttered to the floor, and then her hands curled around the bottom hem and lifted. Beneath was a white shift that dipped low in the front revealing the swells of her breasts. Breasts that Cullen had only felt through fabric. Lips parting and impatient, Cullen leaned in and pressed a kiss to the top of one breast while his hand finally reached its destination between her thighs. 

He stroked through her curls, parting her folds, he began to stroke her, his thumb gently circling her clit in lazy, unhurried motions. “Oh,” Clara let out a quiet breath of sound, her back arching as she pressed her hips down against his palm. When he lifted his head from her breast she made quick work of tugging the linen shift over her head.

Cullen didn’t see where it landed, because finally, he had Clara naked, save for the stockings on her feet. “Maker’s breath,” he rasped. Full breasts and the soft curve of her stomach. Glancing up he saw her watching him, so he held her gaze as the hand, not between her thighs reached out to palm the heavy weight of one breast. “Why didn’t I get you naked sooner?” he asked and Clara let out a soft laugh. 

Her pale skin was flushed a bright pink, from chest up her throat to her cheeks. One thumb circling her clit, the other caressing the edge of one pebbled nipple, his mind raced through at least half a dozen ways he wanted her now that he had her naked. Laid out on his desk, his to feast on. Her hands splayed on the edge of his desk as he’d taken her from the beginning, but this time, naked. In this chair again and again. With her nails clawing at his back. 

Leaning down he sucked the nipple he was stroking into his mouth and lapped his tongue over it. Clara’s hands flew to the back of his neck, gripping him against her. Feeling how wet she’d grown beneath his ministrations, Cullen slowly pressed the tip of one finger into her opening and thought if he didn’t fuck her soon, he’d likely spill, embarrassingly, all over his breeches. Still cupping and kneading her breast he kissed his way across the valley between to the other, and deliberately rubbed his stubbled jaw against the tender flesh. 

Clara let out a little squeak of sound, her nails sharp pinpricks at the nape of his neck. Cullen wondered what was wrong with him that he felt the need to mark her up, and so thoroughly enjoyed having her mark him. Suckling at her nipple, he slipped his finger deeper, stroked her the way he knew she liked while continuing to rub her clit. Then, with care, he scraped his teeth over the stiff bud in his mouth. 

The sound she made was loud, echoing off the high walls, and for a split second, Cullen thought of the scouts. He always made sure there was no one too close to his office when Clara came for their assignations, and they had always been so quiet before. There was a sliver of pride at drawing such noises from her that went hand in hand with leaving evidence of their time together marking her skin. 

Her hips rolled in a fluid motion against his hand Cullen couldn’t stand the wait any longer. “Clara, Clara, please.” He withdrew his hand to her quiet mew of protest, gripped his cock, and let out a low groan at the wet heat of her rubbing against his length. “Clara,” he begged and without missing a beat, she rolled her hips, and tight heat wrapped around him. “Fuck,” he choked, his head falling back as he thrust up, burying himself to the hilt. _More_ , he thought. _More, more, more._ He wanted her to ride him, to set the pace, and he also wanted to dig his fingers into the flesh of her hips as he pounded into her until she came. 

Clara watched Cullen. She’d never heard him curse before. An odd thing to feel pride about, she thought. Completely naked, in his lap, his cock buried inside of her. One of his hands was still on her breast, the other gripping her thigh as he seemed to be fighting a losing battle of composure. Letting her hands slid down over his chest, she curled her fingers around the hem and began to drag it up over his stomach, over taught muscles for years of training. For a fleeting moment, she felt that hesitation in herself, but he hadn’t seemed to mind her curves, the rolls of fat, or the stretch marks on her hips. 

Continuing her task, she pushed his shirt up, her knuckles brushing against his skin as she did. Cullen lifted his head, met her gaze and she clenched her inner walls around his cock. “Fuck! Clara, Clara!” His hips bucked at the same time his hands went to her rump as if he could pull her closer. 

A small grin curved her lips and then she leaned in to press her lips against the shell of his ear. “Take this off, Commander,” she murmured, as the shirt exposed his chest, as high as it would go without his help.

Cullen let out a low growl, releasing her to yank the shirt over his head and throw it aside. “Cullen,” he insisted, banding his arms around her waist.

His hair, so normally neat and tidy, was now delightfully ruffled. “Now, Commander,” she murmured, leaning forward so that her breasts pressed against his chest. Skin to skin she felt the rasp of chest hair. “I told you, that would be improper,” the words were a murmur just an inch from his lips, while she let one hand slide into his hair, just to muss it up some more, while she reached out, found his hand and dragged it back to her breast. 

“Maker,” Cullen moaned, squeezing her breast. Then his free hand cupped the back of her head, and he yanked her head forward, closing that bit of distance, and kissed her hard. His tongue pushed into her mouth and he flexed his hips.

Needing no further encouragement, Clara kissed him back while rocking her hips against his. Her thighs ached but it was worth it, she thought as he sucked her lower lip into his mouth and scraped his teeth over it. He was giving her complete control, letting her set the pace, control their movements. Breaking the kiss to suck in a gasp of breath, Clara clung to him as he lowered his head to her breast and she was lost. She felt wanton and desperate in her pleasure. “Cullen,” she whispered, her breath catching when his teeth scraped over her nipple again. His hand dipped down between them, his thumb found her clit and she had one clear moment of thought and sent out a silent prayer to the Stone that she wouldn’t scream and alert everyone in Skyhold to their current activities.

Breathing was difficult still, and her heart felt like it might beat out of her chest, and none of her extremities were working. But that was okay, because she had her cheek pressed against Cullen’s shoulder, and one of his hands was curved around her hip, the other traced the line of her spine up and down, and up again. Over and over. Clara wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but she couldn’t feel her legs and the sweat on her skin had begun to dry and she felt too hot and freezing at the same time from the breeze coming down through the massive hole in his roof. 

She felt the rasp of his cheek against her shoulder and forced her eyes open, though she saw nothing but the back of the chair. Again that rasp, then again, like a cat she thought and sank her teeth into her lower lip to stifle the giggle that threatened to escape. Just like the cat they had when she was a child would rub his head against her chin. “I should go,” she whispered. Ancestor’s, how long had she been there? 

Cullen made a quiet sound but made no move to tip her out of his lap. No, his hand kept up that steady pattern along her spine, and his cheek was replaced by lips with a soft kiss that had Clara’s eyes slipping shut.


	7. Chapter 7

“Here you go, lass,” Rylen said setting the mug down in front of her, before placing another in front of Etta who sat across from her.

“Thank you, Knight-Captain,” she said with a grin.

Rylen let out a quiet grunt as he walked around to fall back into the chair beside Etta. “How long have we known each other, Clara?” he asked, stretching his arm across the back of Etta’s chair.

Clara pretended to think it over. “A few months, at least,” she said lifting the mug to her lips to take a long pull of the ale.

“Months,” he scoffed. “Etta,” he said looking to her, pleadingly, but she just laughed and took a drink from her own mug. “You’ve known Etta only a few weeks longer than you’ve known me. Are you ever going to call me by my name?”

Elbow on the table, her chin on her palm she just smiled as she shook her head. “Nope,” she said.

“You’re going to give me a complex,” he shot back, sipping from his own mug. 

“I’m trying, real hard.” He shot her a glare, though it held no heat. They’d been over this so many times before. It was a hard habit for Clara to break after nigh on thirteen years. Others of her station she could speak to so informally, but even those in the kitchen Clara still felt she must defer to them, since technically speaking, they ranked above her.

“I’ve told you,” Etta said, reaching over to cup the man’s jaw as she leaned in to steal a kiss. “You’re not going to change her mind, and at this point, I think she does it just because she knows how much you hate it.” 

Rylen cupped the back of Etta’s head, his nose brushing against hers as he took another kiss and Clara ducked her head, her cheeks warming. It had only been a few hours earlier that she’d sat in Cullen’s lap, and rode him to completion. Just the thought of it had her skin tingling and she pressed her thighs together under her skirts and prayed the blush would fade before they noticed.

Lifting her mug again she took a long drink, in a vain attempt to hide her face. Rylen and Etta drew apart, Etta took another drink and Rylen glanced past Clara and then sat up a little straighter. “Cullen,” he called out, waving a hand and Clara nearly choked on her drink.

Ducking her head slightly, she dropped her mug back to the table and studiously avoided Etta’s gaze. From the corner of her eye, Clara watched Cullen walk up to the bar, exchange coin for drink, and then he turned back toward their table. Rylen didn’t know, did he? Had Etta told him anything? Pretend she didn’t know him? Or acknowledge him on the most casual of levels? 

Lifting her head she looked up, and his eyes barely skipped over her, as if she wasn’t even there, before settling on Rylen again.

“Cullen!” another voice called, loud and echoing off the roof. All eyes turned upward toward the source. The Inquisitor was leaning precariously over the edge of the railing to the second floor. Someone’s hand gripping the waistband of her trousers to keep her from toppling over. “Come join us!” 

Clara watched then, no longer worried about what she’d do, because Cullen looked up at the Inquisitor and the rest of the tavern could have been burning for all he noticed it. He tossed a goodbye over his shoulder to Rylen and then went up the stairs, and Clara knew when he reached the Inquisitor because there was a loud drunken cheer that filled the building. 

As she dropped her gaze back to the mug in front of her, she saw Etta watching her, her face a mix of worry and anger, but Clara just smiled and gave her shoulder a little shrug. Rylen muttered something under his breath and shook his head before draining his mug. “I think I’m going to call it a night,” Clara said, pushing her mostly empty mug away. 

“I’ll go with you,” Etta slammed her own mug down harder than necessary.

Pushing away from the table, Clara shook her head. “Don’t be silly, stay, enjoy the evening.” They had the next day off, and usually, Etta spent that time with Rylen. But Etta was already on her feet. Quick goodbyes were exchanged with Rylen and then they were outside, cloaks drawn tight to ward off the cold wind that was likely blowing in a major storm.

“I don’t like it,” Etta said and Clara sighed. “You should have to screw him just because-”

“Etta,” Clara exclaimed quietly. “That isn’t how it is, and you know it.” Because Clara had told Etta everything about that day she’d walked into him stroking himself and so boldly ended up offering herself up for his pleasure. Etta’s jaw was clenched and she stared straight ahead as they walked. “I know where we stand, Et, it’s okay. The Commander  _ doesn’t  _ love me, he’s never  _ going  _ to love me and I don’t want him to anyway.” 

“Why not?” Etta whirled on her, hands on her hips.

“He’s the kind of man who is going to end up with the Inquisitor or someone else of their ilk. Maybe Seeker Pentaghast. He’s important, he has his duties, and besides, he works constantly, barely ever takes a break.” Except maybe when he spread her out on his desk, or took her into his lap.

“You’re talking like he’s better than you,” Etta bit out, turned, and started walking again, and Clara met her stride, though it was considerably longer. When Clara didn’t reply, Etta shot her a dark look. “So what, does that mean that Rylen is better than me?”

Clara blinked at her friend. They’d never fought before, and while Clara had seen Etta upset, angry even, she’d never seen her quite like this. “Of course not,” she replied immediately. “Etta, that isn’t-”

“He’s the Commander’s second. I’m not better than you are. Worse if you really want to get to the bottom of it,” the words were slashes to Clara’s heart.

“Etta,” she pleaded. “No, that isn’t, of course, I don’t think that.”

“But the Commander is so important, and so is Rylen, whereas you and I are just the laundry girls.” Then she quickened her pace so that unless Clara ran, she wouldn’t be able to keep up.

“Etta!” she called after her. “Etta!” She didn’t understand. Couldn’t sort out what had happened. Etta had been fine, all jokes and smiles earlier. Following after her friend, Clara went down to the servant’s quarters and knocked on Etta’s door. When she got no reply she nudged it open and found the other woman on her bed, in the dark. “Do you want to tell me the real reason you’re so upset?” she asked gently.

Etta was quiet for long seconds, then Clara heard a muffled ‘no’. Walking into the room and closing the door, Clara toed off her shoes and crawled up onto the bed that was barely big enough for the both of them and stretched out against Etta’s back, and wrapped an arm around her waist. “Okay,” Clara murmured and Etta sniffled. “I’m sorry if what I said made it sound like I think Rylen is better than you. That isn’t true, not even a little. I love how happy the two of you are. It makes me so happy to see you two together. He dotes on you, and you deserve that and so much more. But you know as well as I do that Cullen and Rylen are two very different people.”

The only reply was another sniffle and Clara felt Etta reach up as if to wipe at her face and it made Clara’s heart ache for her friend. “Cullen isn’t the sort to chose a scullery maid over the queen of the castle.”

“She isn’t a queen,” Etta snapped. “And you aren’t a scullery maid.” Then she was quiet for several long moments. “But I understand what you mean. I’m sorry I bit your head off. It’s just that… you act like everyone deserves better than you and I hate it.” 

Clara rested her chin against her friend’s shoulder. “That isn’t true, I mean, I don’t think that everyone else deserves better. It’s just that…” she trailed off. She was the eldest of her siblings, and being in charge and always fretting about their happiness and wellbeing had become so ingrained that she knew she did the same with others. “Cullen and I are nothing like you and Rylen. He loves the Inquisitor and we’ve been honest from the start with each other. He even told me today that if I stopped coming to him, ended this tryst that it was alright. He wouldn’t mind. While you and Rylen have been dedicated to each other from the first.” 

A quiet broken sound escaped Etta, and Clara pushed up onto her elbow. “Etta, please, tell me what’s wrong,” she begged.

“He’s leaving,” she choked out. “Or well, he will be. There’s some fortress in the desert that they are talking about sending him out to and-” Etta covered her face with her hand. “Who knows when he’ll be back, or if. I’m so worried about something happening to him out there, or that he’ll meet someone and realize that I’m just a nobody servant and he could have anyone he wants.”

Clara tightened her arms around her friend, hugging her close. “Oh, Etta,” she breathed. All the more proof of how very different things were for them. “Did you tell Rylen any of this?” she asked and Etta let out a derisive snort. “Of course not,” Clara answered her own question, and then she had a niggling of an idea. “Why would he want anyone else, when he could have you?” she asked her. 

A fortress. A fortress would need servants, wouldn’t it? They weren’t just going to send the soldiers out there for some unknown length of time without people do at least the cooking, if not laundry too. Clara didn’t think she had any sway with Cullen, but it didn’t hurt to ask, to make the suggestion to help her dearest friend.


	8. Chapter 8

Cullen only planned to stop at his office for a moment before heading down to the baths. After several hours of training with the troops he was exhausted and sweaty, his shoulders sore from the repeated motion. But he would not have his soldiers falling in battle. They would be trained to the best of his abilities. And of course, he hadn’t been showing off for Ellana when she’d stopped by the training field. 

“Oh.” Cullen looked toward the door that opened on the other end and squinted at the woman backlit by the sun. Not Clara. “Commander Cullen,” the voice said and he frowned, trying to place it. Then she stepped in further and he recognized the woman he’d met on a handful of occasions due to her relationship with Rylen. 

“Etta, what can I do for you?” 

“Clara isn’t coming.” The words left an oddly hollow sensation in his chest. He’d told her she didn’t have to, that she was under no obligation, but he’d gotten quite used to having her around, despite how rarely they spoke to each other. “She caught that flu that the others had last week, she should be better in a few days,” Etta continued and the hollow feeling vanished.

“Is there anything I can do?” he asked. 

Etta pursed her lips, looked away, and then sucked in a breath before looking back at him. “No,” she said. “No, but I am begging you, don’t hurt her.” 

“What? Why would I-” the words got all tangled up in his indignant outrage. He’d never laid a cruel hand on a servant before.

“She’s my best friend and I don’t want to see her heartbroken.”

Now he was flabbergasted. He blinked at Etta. “She and I are both clear on that is between us,” he said, his cheeks burning because he could not believe he was having this conversation. 

Etta’s hands twisted in front of her before she shoved them into the pockets of her skirts. “I know that,” she said and sighed. “She’s told me that as well. But she is my best friend and I love her and I want her to be happy.” She turned back to the door and opened it before glancing over her shoulder at him. “Did she tell you about Haven? During the attack?” Cullen shook his head. “She saved my life, only reason I stand here today.”

Then she was gone and Cullen stood staring at the once more closed door. Etta was the friend, Cullen realized, that Clara had been speaking of the other day when she’d shown up at his office, early one morning before he’d left for training with the soldiers. When she’d inquired about the fortress in the Western Approach and if they would be taking servants. She’d hedged around her explanation, not giving many details.

Before he could take a step toward the ladder to go up and grab a change of clothes the other door opened revealing the Inquisitor. “War room meeting,” she said with a smile. “Leliana just received some news she wishes to discuss with us all.” 

Glancing down at himself, Cullen bit back a sigh. The bath would have to wait, he supposed. “Of course, my lady.” He inclined his head and followed.

“How are you feeling?” Ellana asked as they made their way across the stone walkway to the other tower.

“Quite well, thank you,” Cullen told her. She knew of his quitting the Lyrium, had felt he had no other choice after she’d found him and Cassandra arguing. Though he was grateful she hadn’t seen him at his lowest points and prayed that she never word.

“No ill effects?”

“Nothing you need to concern yourself with.” Her hand on his arm, she drew him to a stop and he looked at her. They stood nearly the same height and he met her gaze, held her dark blue eyes with his.

“But it does concern me, Cullen,” she told him. “If you need anything, you’ll come to me, yes?”

His heart sped up and he felt like a fumbling youth suddenly. “I, uh, I wouldn’t want to impose,” he managed to stutter out, and Ellana just smiled softly at him. 

“You wouldn’t be, I care about you Cullen, you don’t need to suffer alone.” She gave his arm a slight squeeze and then turned and continued on his way, leaving Cullen feeling rather dumbstruck to trail after her. 

He hadn’t suffered alone in his most recent episode, Clara had been there, gentle with him and she’d built him a blanket fort and crawled in beside him. He tried to imagine Ellana doing the same and couldn’t quite replace the image in his mind. 

Just over a week later, Clara was up in the Commander’s loft when she heard the door open downstairs. “Clara?” he called out and she finished tucking the sheet in and then fluffed the lone pillow up as best she could.

“Yes, Commander,” she called back down.

“I wasn’t sure-” a beat. “How are you feeling?”

Snapping out the heavy comforter she spread it out over the bed, smoothing it down with her hands so not a single wrinkle remained. “Much better, Commander, thank you for asking.” Tucking the bedding into the careful bundle with the rest of his laundry, she leaned over the edge and let it drop down to land at the foot of the ladder. Then she began to descend. “I’m glad,” Cullen said, his voice soft and it had a smile spreading across Clara’s face. Turning to gather the bundle to toss into her laundry basket, she froze, lips parting in surprise, and then mortification because obviously, she’d interrupted something.

In the few minutes she’d been up in the loft since Cullen had arrived, he’d spread out a blanket on the floor, with a picnic basket, a bottle of wine, and two glasses. An odd sense of disappointment filled her belly. She’d heard, of course, about the Commander and the Inquisitor and the seemingly very public intimate moment they shared on the way from his tower to the other. Apparently, there had been fluttering lashes and anyone watching had said the lust was almost palpable. 

Cullen knelt at the hearth, tossing logs onto the low fire. He glanced over his shoulder and smiled. “Sit,” he insisted, nodding toward the blanket.

“What?” Clara asked dumbly.

Straightening up, Cullen took the bundle of bedding from her hands, dropped it in the basket, and nudged it with his foot to sit beside the door at the other end of the room. Then he returned and caught Clara’s numb hand with his own. “Come, sit,” he said and tugged her toward the blanket.

“I-what?” she asked again, not understanding.

“You haven’t eaten supper yet, have you?” Clara shook her head and didn’t resist as Cullen urged her down onto her knees on the blanket. “Good, I wasn’t sure you’d come, Etta did tell me you’d been ill. I was hoping, I’m glad you’re here.”

He crouched, picked up the bottle of wine and poured a glass, and held it out to Clara. “I don’t understand…” she murmured but took the glass. 

“I thought we could share a meal,” he said, pouring himself a glass before setting aside the bottle. “And enjoy the view,” he gestured upward and Clara tipped back her head. They sat beneath the gaping hole in his ceiling. “Sun will set soon, and we’ll be able to see the stars.” 

Clara still didn’t understand, but she settled on the blanket, toeing off her shoes to keep them off the blanket. “Alright,” she murmured. Cullen sunk down beside her, his back against the stone wall, and tilted his head back. Light still trickled in, and she thought it would be at least an hour before the sun truly set. They sat for several long moments, the only sound the crackling of the fire. “What is this?” Clara finally asked, looking at Cullen.

He turned his head to look at her, his cheeks turning pink. “Was it a bad idea?” he asked. “I apologize,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “I had just thought- you took care of me when I was ill, for which I am very grateful, it was a kindness you didn’t need to show. I hadn’t been sure if you’d come tonight, wasn’t sure you’d truly be feeling well after a week of being ill. I don’t want you to feel forced into… or for you to feel obligated to have sex if you’re still not feeling well. Also, I’ve come to rather enjoy your company and to be honest, I missed seeing you this last week.” 

Mouth opening, then closing, Clara just stared at the man beside her for several long seconds. Then she took a drink from her glass, set it aside and got to her knees, and straddled his lap. Cupping his face between her palms she smiled a little. “You are going to make the Inquisitor a very happy woman one day.” Because what woman wouldn’t love him for such a thing? His cheeks went scarlet and she leaned in to kiss him. 

Well over an hour later, judging by the stars twinkling in the night sky, Clara sat naked save for the Commander’s mantle tugged around her, while he sat wearing only his trousers barely laced closed. “Here,” he said, holding a small piece of apple with a slice of cheese on it to her lips. She took it, and deliberately licked his fingers in the process, drawing a groan from him. 

“Wicked,” he murmured, and once she’d finished chewing the bite he claimed her mouth in a kiss again. 

“You like it,” she shot back and he laughed quietly and took a drink from the wine glass they were now sharing, as the other one had disappeared somewhere in their earlier escapades. She took the glass from him and sipped from it. Between the heat of the fire, the wine in her blood, and the half-naked man before her, Clara’s head felt a little fuzzy, and admittedly, she liked it.

“I take it,” he said, knuckles brushing against her bare knee, sending a shiver of pleasure up her thigh straight to her core. “That Etta is the friend you were inquiring about sending to the Western Approach?” 

She blinked at him. “Yes, how did you know?”

He smiled at her, offered another berry to her lips that she took without thought. “You do realize Rylen and I are friends. I’ve shared a meal with them a time or two. I didn’t realize you two knew each other.” 

Clara felt as if she were rather daft at that moment. She knew all of that, that Rylen and Cullen were friends, that Etta had met Cullen on a few occasions, spent time with the two of them together. “Oh,” was all she managed to get out.

“Had you simply told me that, I could have put your mind at ease about sending her off there.” When she’d asked about servants at the new fortress he’d told her that yes, eventually, though nothing was set in stone quite yet. “Rylen and I already discussed the matter. Though, he requested her presence, not as a laundress.” Words stuck in Clara’s throat and she thought she might burst into tears. “Once the place is entirely secure and set up we’ll allow others who are not soldiers out there. It’ll be a while longer for any civilians, but- are you crying?”

“No,” Clara’s voice cracked and she pressed her hand to her mouth.

“Clara, I thought you’d be happy.”

“I am,” she fanned her face and laughed. “I am. Stone’s ancestors, I knew I liked the Knight-Captain for a reason.” 

Reaching up, Cullen brushed away the tear that had trailed down her cheek. “Don’t say anything to her, it was meant to be a secret until everything is ready. Rylen didn’t want her getting her hopes up if he couldn’t have her out there.” 

Smiling, so relieved, Clara kissed Cullen’s palm and smiled. “I won’t say a word,” she promised.

He slid his arm around her, tugging her closer to him. “Etta is very fond of you,” he murmured against the crown of her head. “I hadn’t realized it was you she spoke of, but she,” a slight hesitation. “She mentioned you were the only reason she survived Haven.” Clara lifted her head and looked up at him. “Tell me about it?” he asked.

“I know how to wield a sword,” she told him, saw his brows shoot up, and couldn’t help the quiet laugh, despite the terrible memories that went with it. “Did you think my mother would have a forge and not teach her daughters how to handle a weapon?” 

His hand slipped along her hip, beneath the mantle around her, and splayed his hand in the middle of her back. “I find that very comforting,” he told her. “I think I’d like to see that one day.” 

Clara wrinkled her nose at him. “I’m no soldier, I don’t have any skill. But I do know the basics. It’s Minka who’s brilliant with a sword.”

“Hmm,” he murmured, his other hand coming up to slide into her hair. “And you saved Etta?”

A soft moan escaped as she settled herself against his chest. “I protected her until we got to the Chantry.”

“Did you have to take on any of the Venetori?” there was a note of horror in his voice, and his hands went still in their gentle stroking.

“There were two,” she murmured. “We were hurrying to the chantry. She was just a few steps ahead of me and a mage saw her. He was laughing as he blasted her with a bolt of lightning. There was a sword laying there in the middle of the path. The man who’d been wielding it still holding on. I grabbed it and flew at the mage. Forgot everything my mother ever taught me, and just kept swinging until-” Clara swallowed, remembering the bloody remains. “Thankfully Etta was steady enough to get to her feet. We made it around a corner, and there was another one. His back was to us. I didn’t even hesitate. Though this time I did remember my mother’s training. I killed him before he even realized we were there.” 

Cullen cupped her jaw, angling her face up to his as he searched her face for what she didn’t know. “Maker’s breath, Clara,” he rasped.

“The nightmares stopped for the most part. I only have them every once and a while.” She forced a smile onto her face, because Etta was the only other person who knew what had happened, and if it weren’t for the wine, she wasn’t sure she’d have admitted it all to Cullen. Feeling oddly exposed for having told him all that, Clara reached up and slid her hands into Cullen’s hair, and tugged his head down to hers where she claimed his mouth in a kiss.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another little attempt at some art - [Clara in Cullen's cloak](https://wardenrainwall.tumblr.com/post/641329353472557056/so-just-disregard-the-fact-that-i-ignored-her-feet)

Cullen didn’t resist when Clara tugged his mouth down to hers, or when she leaned back on the blanket. With one hand fisted in her hair, he stroked his tongue against hers. She tasted of the wine and the berries he’d been feeding her. He had been so relieved when he stepped into his office and saw the basket at the bottom of the ladder. The last week, on each night that she would normally arrive he’d been ready with his ridiculous spread. The blanket, wine, and glasses were easy enough to have stashed aside, but the food was different and he wasn’t sure what the kitchen staff thought of his third request that week for the plate of fruits and cheese and bread. 

And now he had her here, naked, save for his mantle. Which he liked so much he wanted to keep her in it. Nudging the fabric aside he cupped one breast while she dipped one hand down to tug at his low-slung trousers. His body needed very little encouragement. One of her soft thighs steepled against his side, her hands - calloused but still delicate in their touch, urging him closer. 

“Maker’s breath, Clara,” Cullen moaned as he guided his cock to her slit and pushed inside. He pressed his face against her throat, leaving little sucking kisses up to her jaw, before taking her mouth with his own. Her fingernails left faint welts over his shoulders and Cullen began to move. Slow steady thrusts, because he wanted to draw this out as long as he could, hold onto this pleasure. Savor every second of her soft body against his.

Breaking the kiss to lift his head, Cullen looked down at Clara, and thought perhaps, he’d never seen a more beautiful sight. The rich brown of her hair spread out around her on the blanket, cheeks flushed pink, damp lips parted. Her lids fluttered open and she met his gaze. The dark brown of her eyes looking nearly black in the shadow of his body over her.

The thought that this woman had singlehandedly taken on not one, but two of the Venatori. That this short woman, who was no soldier, had taken on trained fighters and come out the victor. He was very grateful to her mother for ensuring her daughters knew how to handle a sword. Otherwise, he never would have met the woman beneath him now. Cullen wanted to see her fight, wanted her to train to guarantee those skills never failed her should she need them again.

He felt the sharp bite of her nails as she arched beneath him. “Cullen,” she gasped out and he reached up, brushing a lock of hair back from her forehead, and then let his hand trail down over her throat, her shoulder, her side. Along her hip and thigh to cup the back of her knee. Those slow steady thrusts no longer enough, he hooked his elbow beneath her knee and seemed to sink even deeper. 

Clara let out a quiet sound and Cullen searched her face. “Okay?” he asked, his own breathing coming in ragged pants now.

“Uh-huh,” she jerked her head in a nod and reassured, Cullen began to thrust faster, each pump of his hips more forceful than the last. And he kept watching her face. Throwing her head back, Clara held onto him. “Fuck, fuck. Fuck. Stones-Cullen-don’t-don’t stop!” 

“Clara,” he breathed out her name. 

“Oh!” One of her hands caught the back of his neck, yanked, and drew his mouth down to hers in a crushing kiss as her body tensed and began to tremble beneath his. He swallowed her cry as her core clamped down around his length, her legs locking so tight around his waist that he could only pushed deeper, deeper as his own pleasure took him and he spilled himself inside him. 

His own body was trembling as he tried not to completely collapse on top of her. Cullen pressed his face against his throat as his entire body shivered in her embrace. Minutes passed. It could have been hours for all Cullen knew, and he felt no inclination to move, and since it seemed as if Clara didn’t either, judging by how her legs were still wrapped around him, he stayed where he was and began stroking one hand down her side, from below the curve of her breast, over the swell of hips to her thigh, again and again. While the fingers on the back of his neck began to stroke through the hair at his nape.

“Tell me about the ceiling?” Clara asked a long time later, and Cullen glanced up at her face and saw her looking up through the giant hole in the roof. Still not wanting to pull away, he rested his elbow by her head and his cheek on his palm as he peered down at her.

“I told you I need to see the sky at night,” he murmured, his other hand coming up to trace the line of her jaw. Clara turned her face to look at him and nodded. “The Circle Tower I was at when I first became a Templar, it was…” he drew in a slow breath, let it out again. “Mages rebelled, used blood magic. There were demons and-” his words seemed to lodge in his throat and he looked away, embarrassed. He’d never confessed this to anyone before.

Clara’s hand, work-roughened and gentle, cupped his cheek. “You don’t have to tell me,” she told him quietly.

But he wanted to. She’d told him of her own nightmares, wasn’t it only fair that he shared his own? “The demons enjoyed toying with the Templars. I watched comrade after comrade fall victim, by death or they willingly agreed to whatever the demon offered them. But I refused. I held onto my faith, I prayed, and just… prayed. I don’t know how long it lasted, a desire demon, it-” his breath caught and he leaned into Clara’s palm, closed his eyes, and focused on the feel of her, warm and real beneath him. 

“I don’t know how long it had me in its clutches, it felt like years. The Hero of Ferelden arrived, saved the day, and then they sent me to Kirkwall, where tragedy after tragedy befell the city. Between the Qunari and Meredith and the red-lyrium idol, I have seen… much over the last ten years.” Reaching up, he covered her hand with his and pressed a kiss to her palm. “I’ve seen so many horrors and in the night, they return to haunt me. When I wake and can see the night’s sky. The stars, the moon, all that open space, it helps remind me that I’m no longer there. That I survived it.” 

When Cullen met Clara’s gaze, he wasn’t sure what he’d expected, but the open understanding in her gaze had his heart beating faster in his chest. “It’s the opposite for my sister, Iva.” Her brows drew together and an expression of such sorrow took over her features. “In the months before we knew the Blight was coming, she was about eleven? She and her friends were out playing near this old cave that they were always told to stay out of, out of concern of it collapsing or something. 

“A Darkspawn scout caught them, slaughtered every single one of those children Iva was with, she was injured, but in the chaos, managed to slip away while her friends died. She hid in the mouth of that cave, in a dark space behind some rocks. I remember that day, so clearly. Mama was pregnant with Minka, and she sent Corinna out to tell Iva it was time to come home. 

“I’d started working for a family in the village, and they were kind enough to let me come home with my duties were done for the day. Mom had been very ill during her pregnancy, couldn’t work, couldn’t stand in the forge. When I got home, she was frantic. Magda and father were in Denerim, and it had been hours. So I went, there were other parents, worried because the sun was beginning to go set. 

“We found the children, what was left of them, and there was… it was hard to tell how many children were there. I thought for sure that Cori and Iva were dead, but then Cori let out this little whistle and I found her, holding a trembling Iva. I had to carry her home because I couldn’t get her to stand, to come out of her hiding space.

“She didn’t talk for months after that, still will go long stretches without saying a word. The blanket fort,” she blinked, her eyes suddenly focusing on Cullen’s face. “I used to build them for her. Because sometimes she can’t handle the light or open space, so I’d build her these little forts with just the one little opening, so nothing could come up behind her.”

“Like the one you built for me?” He stroked his finger along her temple.

Clara hummed softly. “It wasn’t my best. But yes, like that.” 

“You care for them so much, why leave?”

“It started when I took up that job when our mother was pregnant. We had food from father’s garden, but it only got us so far. Once Minka was born and mother was able to return to work, I didn’t quit. Having the extra money to help the family made me happy, and I was able to stash some away for myself. Then I took a job in Denerim, it… wasn’t a good match. I was only there a few months. The next one took me further away, up in Highever. It was harder and harder to find the time to go home. And when I did… Iva… she doesn’t do well when anyone leaves. She frets. A day at the market in Denerim is one thing, she’ll count the hours till they come home. But me coming and visiting only to leave and be gone for months on end, it's harder. So I stay away.” 

Clara offered and smile and a shrug. “They do just fine without me.” Then she sighed, looking back up at the night sky. “It’s late. I should go.” 

Startled by the sudden change in subject, Cullen frowned for a moment, then blushed. “Right, of course.” It had been hours, hadn’t it? He drew back, righted the trousers that had been at his knees, and watched Clara get to her feet, she drew off his mantle as she crossed to the desk, draped it over the back of the chair with careful hands. He watched her begin to make her way back, naked and beautiful as she glanced around looking for her discarded clothing. 

When she looked up at met his gaze, he saw her blush and smile before she found her shift and tugged it over her head. And just like that, her skin was covered throat to wrist to ankle. He got up, found his tunic and pulled it on, and then padded over to her where she was getting ready to pull the dress on over her head. Cullen reached up, caught the dress and her hands over her head, and ducked his head to press a soft kiss to her lips. Then he helped smooth the dress down over her curves. 

“I should help-” she gestured to their little picnic and Cullen shook his head.

“No, I’ll take care of it,” he reassured her.

Clara slid on her shoes, smoothed down her hair as best she could, and then headed for the door where her basket still sat. “Good night, Commander,” she murmured and Cullen felt something in his chest go tight.

“Back to that again, are we?” he asked and he caught a smile as she ducked her head. But then she looked up at him, and her expression was so soft Cullen wanted to stop her, keep her there with him just a little while longer, but then she had her basket balanced against her hip and he watched her slip out the door. 


	10. Chapter 10

It was early, the sun just barely creeping up over the horizon as Cullen left his quarters, prepared to run laps with the troops. He felt...good. When so many night’s sleep eluded him, it was an uncommon thing to feel at such an early hour. The previous night with Clara had been a welcome reprieve from a stressful week.

“Cullen!” a feminine voice called just before Cullen reached the starting point for the soldiers’ run. Many of them milled about, a few had already begun. Turning, he saw Ellana jogging toward him. Her hair was pulled up in a high ponytail and swished with every step. She wore a loose tunic that she’d tied into a knot at her hip and well-fitted trousers. “Mind if I join?” she asked with a smile.

“I-uh, no, of course not,” he gestured to the group. Then he shouted a command that had them all coming to attention and then they were off, jogging out the main gate of Skyhold. He fell in behind them, Ellana matching his pace. “You don’t usually go running with the troops,” he commented. Though he knew she sparred and had other ways of keeping in shape.

“Of course not,” she laughed. “I hate running. I prefer to only do it when it’s from the bears in the Hinterlands.”

“Then why-” he glanced at her.

“I figured it was the only time I’d get to actually speak with you.” Frowning, Cullen tried to figure out what she might need to discuss with him. Had something happened? Before he could ask, she continued. “You’re either training with the troops, and I can’t exactly talk to you when you’re shouting orders at them, or you’re locked up in your office.” 

Cheeks flushing, he focused his gaze straight ahead and wondered had people noticed just how much time he spent in there? And had they noticed a certain laundress spending far more time than necessary to change bedding or drop off clothes? “I just- there is a lot of work to be done.” And that wasn’t a lie. Daily reports from soldiers at outposts, issues among the ranks. 

“I know,” Ellanna said. “But you can’t spend all your time working. Dorian tells me the two of you play chess every now and then, I’m not great at it, but at least I don’t cheat,” her laugh was a breathy sound, and not from the jogging. “Or you could come and join us for a game of Wicked Grace or Diamond Back. Since we’re leaving tomorrow morning for a few weeks, we were going to get together tonight.”

The invitation was unexpected, and he welcomed the chance to spend more time with the Inquisitor. “I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

“Don’t be silly,” she shook her head. “I’m inviting you, it isn’t an intrusion.” 

This was what he wanted. Ellana to notice him, to spend time with him so that she could see just how good they could be together. So why did he feel just a small niggling of guilt? Clara and he were on the same page. Just the night before, she’d smiled, and said he’d make the Inquisitor happy. He had nothing to feel guilty for. Unless it was for having sex with a woman who was not the one he intended on, hoped quite desperately, to spend his life with. “I’d like that,” he finally said as they rounded the bend and came within view of the gates to Skyhold once more. 

“Fantastic,” Ellana beamed at him. “And perfect timing,” she laughed slowing down, and Cullen found himself doing the same. “I don’t think I could do another lap.”

“Maybe you should run with the soldiers more often if you can’t even handle the one,” Cullen joked.

“Ha ha,” Ellana stepped closer, leaned in, and pressed a kiss to his cheek and Cullen felt his entire body freeze up. Her lips were soft, and she smelled like the earth and flowers. “Maybe you’ll have dinner with me before the game?” she took a step back, brows lifted and Cullen just nodded dumbly. “Great, see you later, Cullen!” Then she turned and ran back to the gates and disappeared into Skyhold.

Hours later, after dinner and the game, Cullen found himself walking along the ramparts with Ellana. Admittedly, he’d had more fun playing diamond back with Ellana and her companions than he’d expected. Though Ellana had been quieter than she usually tended to be. “Is everything alright, Inquisitor?”

Turning her face to his she smiled. “Aren’t we past such formalities, Commander?”

It was jarring to hear that title coming from her lips. Ellana hadn’t called him Commander since their first weeks in Haven. The soft intimacy of her tone had his heart skipping a beat, and he thought of Clara, her soft smiles and refusal to call him Cullen unless he had her in the throes of passion. Ducking his head, he reached up and rubbed the back of his neck, shoving those thoughts from his mind. “Of course, Ellana,” he replied.

She was silent for a few steps. “I’m worried for my Clan,” she admitted and stopped to lean against the stone abutment.

Cullen stood in front of her, watched how she wrapped her arms around her middle, and hunched her shoulders slightly. “The troops departed this afternoon. They’ll see that no harm comes to your clan.” 

“I know,” she raked a hand through her hair and let out a harsh breath. “I know. It’s just… they’re all I have, Cullen. I’ve never been apart from my clan like this. And all of this,” she waved a hand, encompassing Skyhold, “all these responsibilities that have been put on me-” she broke off and looked up her eyes a little wide. “Sorry, I shouldn’t - Countless lives are depending on the Inquisition and the choices I make. Whining about it isn’t helping anyone.” 

Abruptly, Ellana pushed away from the wall and made a move to start walking again, but Cullen reached out and caught her arm gently. “You aren’t alone, Ellana,” he said softly into the night. “You have friends here, your companions, the people of the Inquisition. You have me.” A beat and Cullen felt like his heart was in his throat.

Turning around, Ellana looked at him, dark blue eyes glinting in the moonlight. “Do I?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. “Have you?”

“If you want me.” Time seemed to slow down to a crawl. Cullen searched her face, desperate and hopeful. 

“Commander,” a voice called. “There appears to be a small caravan coming up the hill. It looks as if they are pilgrims.”

And just like that, the moment with Ellana was over. Cullen turned to handle the current minor obligation, and when he had, Ellana was gone.   
  


Clara was just walking out of the laundry room with Etta, rubbing the thick salve into her aching knuckles when a young boy ran up to her. “E’scues me, my lady, are you Clara?” 

“I- yes?” Clara frowned and then he thrust an envelope into her hand. A flicker of worry swelled in her chest. She’d just replied to Magda’s letter the day before, and everything was fine. But what if something had happened? The boy ran off before she could ask anything and then she looked at Etta who watched her with concern.

Her name was written on the front and it was definitely not her sister’s handwriting. Frown deepening she released the plain wax seal and tugged the folded piece of paper inside free. 

_Clara,_

_I know that I would not normally see you tonight, but I hoped that you might join me this evening._

_Cullen_

Etta made a quiet sound and Clara looked up, grinding stupidly despite the apparent disapproval on her friend's face. Included in the letter was a time and directions. “What?” she asked. 

Etta opened her mouth, closed it, and then let out a heavy sigh. “You’re taking the tonic right?” she finally asked.

A beat of confusion and then Clara rolled her eyes. “Of course, I am.” The tonic that kept her from getting with child. That was the last thing she needed. “Stop worrying, Etta,” because she could see the concern. “It’s just sex,” she insisted. They were just having fun, enjoying each other in private.

“I just don’t want to see you get hurt. Your hearts too big for your own good.” 

Letting out a sigh, Clara looped her arm around Etta’s and they resumed their walking. Rylen had left nearly a week earlier, and Clara knew that Etta missed him terribly already. She was eager for them to have the fortress set up to allow Etta to join him, and it was so hard to keep her mouth shut, but she would. “I’ll be fine,” she promised. 

Several hours later, as the sun began to sink down toward the horizon, Clara stepped out the front gates of Skyhold. Butterflies fluttered in her belly, in anticipation. Following the map of ‘follow this path, turn here, turn there,’ she reached a clearing deep in the trees just as the sun disappeared. 

Cullen stood chest-deep in a pool of water that had steam wafting off of it. Clara vaguely remembered hearing something about hot springs in the area, but she’d never even thought to seek it out.

“What’s all this?” she asked.

Cullen crooked a finger and grinned at her. “Come here,” he murmured. The moon was full in the sky and she could clearly see him as he smoothed his hands over the water's surface. “Come and join me, Clara.”

It did look delightfully warm, but Clara shook her head. “I can’t swim,” she admitted and Cullen took a few steps forward, the water now at his waist and he was very clearly naked. 

“It isn’t so deep,” he said and held out a hand. “I’m not going to let you drown. Come on, Clara.” Stepping forward she finally closed the distance to the edge of the water. 

Glancing around she bit her lip. “Are you… are you sure?” Cullen lifted his hand and flicked a few drops of water at her. “Hey!” she scowled at his smiling face, and then drew in a deep breath and stripped as quickly as she could. It was freezing and there was snow on the ground from the little storm they got a few days earlier. 

Stepping closer to the edge, she hesitated, but then Cullen’s arms were rising, his hands at her waist and she let him guide her down into the water. “Oh-” surprise at the warmth and then a soft moan slipped past her lips. “Oh.” Cullen chuckled quietly as he curled one arm around her waist and drew them a few steps from the shore. Clara let out a yelp and clung tighter to him, her legs going around his waist. “Cullen,” her heart was pounding in her chest. The water was so dark, pitch black in the night, and even though Cullen still stood easily, she was terrified.

“Hey,” Cullen said softly, his damp, free hand coming up to cup her jaw, to force her to look at him, and not the water. “I’ve got you.” 

Clara felt her heart skip a beat, and then she gave a little nod and slid her arms around his shoulders and let her body relax. Submerged up to their chests, Clara rested her cheek against her arm and enjoyed the feel of his hands smoothing up and down her back. They stayed like that for long minutes. “Is everything alright?” Clara finally asked.

Cullen was silent for a few moments longer then he let out a quiet sigh then ducked his head to press a kiss to her shoulder. “There is a man, Samson, Corypheus’ strongest commander. We’ve tracked him down, and will be going after him.”

Clara lifted her head to look at Cullen’s face, saw him staring off into the distance. She’d heard the name but knew little about him. “Are you… worried?” Of course, if it was the Inquisitor going, he would be.

Blinking her turned his face to meet her gaze. “I’ll be going after him.” Clara opened her mouth, snapped it shut, and didn’t know what to say. “He is… I knew him. We were in the Circle together in Kirkwall.” She couldn’t read his face, couldn’t tell what he was thinking. Letting one hand slide up to rest at the nape of his neck, she stroked her fingers through the hair there. “He was thrown out of the Templars.”

Clara knew the surprise registered on her face. “What terrible crime could a Templar commit to have him thrown out?” she asked and saw the misery on Cullen’s face.

“Sneaking love letters for a man in the Circle, a mage, out to his sweetheart.” Dumbfounded. Clara couldn’t comprehend it. “And the mage in question was made Tranquil.” Tears filled Clara’s eyes and she couldn’t speak, because while she’d know that things were bad between the Templars and the mages, the uprising hadn’t happened for no reason, but she’d never known details. “Sickening, isn’t it?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper in the quiet night. “And I know of mages made tranquil for far less.”

“And all the while,” he continued. “I watched it. I thought it was the right thing to do. I thought it was the only solution.”

“But you don’t any longer,” Clara whispered, she knew that much.

“Does it matter?” his voice held anger and when he turned his head away she cupped his rigidly clenched jaw, forced him to look at her once more.

“Yes. It does matter, Cullen.”

“There is so much corruption. The Templars, the Wardens. And Samson.” He shook his head. “I just keep thinking, I trusted Meredith implicitly for so long. Believed she was right about so much. I turned a blind eye to the abuse, the outright murder of mages, simply because … I was afraid. And if I’d continued down that path, I could have ended up at Corypheus’ side, red-lyrium corrupted and-” 

“But you aren’t.” Clara shook her head when Cullen opened his mouth again. “No, Cullen. Look, you could spend the rest of your life dwelling on the mistakes you made, the bad choices, and the what-ifs. And where will that get you? Nowhere. People make bad choices, thinking it is for the best. But it’s being able to grow from that. To realize you were wrong, to do everything in your power to set things right, to help the people that you would have hurt.” She tugged his head down so that his forehead rested against hers. Cullen closed his eyes, let out a shuddering breath, and held onto her tighter.

“You can’t forget the choices you made,” Clara continued after a minute. “But that doesn’t mean you should dwell on them constantly. You aren’t who you were in Kirkwall, or in Kinloch Hold. You’re the Commander of the Inquisition’s forces, and you recognize the mistakes made and are doing what you can to help fix it.” 

Lifting his head, Cullen met her gaze and gave a little shake of his head, the corner of his mouth lifting into a faint smile. “You are a very wise woman,” he said quietly and Clara blushed.

She shook her head. “No, I’m not, I just have a lot of time to think when I’m scrubbing sheets.” Cullen’s brows drew together, and his smile turned into a frown. But then Clara tugged his head down again and claimed his mouth in a kiss.


	11. Chapter 11

It was a first for Cullen, this mission out to track down Samson. His younger years spent in the Circle, then Kirkwall, and now Skyhold. While he had traveled and been on the road many times before from place to place, and the journey from Haven to Skyhold after the attack had been difficult, this was something entirely different.

It wasn’t a short jaunt, from Skyhold to the Shrine of Dumat. Barring any unforeseen issues, he’d be away from Skyhold for nearly a month's time. And without Rylen there to keep things in order, he dreaded the paperwork he’d return to. Traveling with Ellana, her companions, and a small troop of soldiers made for interesting company. 

A part of Cullen had hoped that this trip, while his main focus was on getting to Samson, that he might have the opportunity to spend more time with Ellana. But the road didn’t offer privacy by any means, and he suspected she was intentionally putting a distance between them. And he was beginning to wonder if he’d made a mistake in speaking so candidly with her that night under the stars.

Though he did enjoy seeing her in this other way. They would travel all day and make camp, and a meal would be prepared and they would gather around a fire, and Ellana would tell stories from her Dalish clan, and all seemed enraptured with her tales, though Cullen wondered how much of them were children’s stories. Talking trees and wood nymphs. But they were enjoyable all the same.

Finding Samson already fled and the shrine burning had been disheartening, though Cullen truly hadn’t been surprised that Samson got away. The return trip was a bit quieter and a few days before they were to arrive in Skyhold, Ellana and half of the party went their own way. “We’ll only be a day or two behind,” she told him. 

“We are to leave for the Winter Palace in less than a week,” he reminded her, and she smiled at him, a warm thing that had his heart fluttering.

“I know, Cullen, I won’t be long. Just need to take care of this really quick.” 

So Cullen continued onto Skyhold with his party, and those last few days were much quieter. The evenings by the campfire silent without Ellana and her stories. Reaching Skyhold, Cullen went straight to Josephine and Leliana to debrief them of what happened, though a missive had been sent already. He explained the details before going to the bathhouse. Pack already in hand he bathed, and dressed and dreaded the nightmare of paperwork on his desk.

Walking into his office he dropped the bag and went to his chair and collapsed back into it. Papers. So many papers to deal with, and the troops. He must go see them, speak with those he left in charge in his absence. Instead, he just leaned his head back and closed his eyes, exhausted. 

He thought of Ellana, considered the matter of his infatuation with her. Perhaps it was time to let that go. Nearly a year they’d been at Skyhold now, and beyond that one conversation, she’d made no indication that she might be interested. 

Fingers gently combed through his hair. “Headache?” Clara’s voice was soft, and Cullen was surprised he hadn’t been startled.

“I didn’t hear you come in,” he said, opening his eyes to look up at her as she stood beside his chair.

“Was up in the loft,” she murmured. “Thought you’d appreciate fresh bedding after all those weeks on the road.” Cullen reached out, catching her around the waist, and tugged her across his lap. Clara let out a quiet yelp and squirmed, trying to get back up. “Not like this, I’m too heavy,” she protested and Cullen tightened his grip.

Her hands were braced on the arms of the chair to keep her weight off him and he scowled. “You’re just fine, stop that.” He bumped her hand off the arm of the chair and shifted her easily on his lap.

“Cullen,” she chided, and he smiled at the slip.

“Hush,” he answered and let his head fall back against the chair once more. Clara was silent for long, long moments, and then finally she settled against him, relaxed just a bit, and reached up to begin stroking her fingers through his hair again. 

He’d missed this, he realized. Her presence. Just having her there was a welcome distraction from all that he needed to do. “Were you able to find Samson?” she asked, voice soft in the silence of the room. He didn’t say anything for a few minutes, considering. How much should he tell her? How much did he want her to know? She hadn’t shied away from the harsh truths of his past, but admittedly, he liked that she was separate from his duties. “I should go,” she said. “Let you rest,” but when she shifted as if to get up again, Cullen refused to relinquish his hold on her.

“Don’t go, not yet,” he said, and then finally, opened his eyes and looked at her. A month since he’d seen her face. Not much different, though her hair was a bit longer. “Samson was already gone when we arrived,” he told her, reaching up to slide his fingers through those soft brown locks. She leaned into his touch and he wished he didn’t have so much to do. That they could both just stay like that for the rest of the day. “Maddox, the tranquil mage, he was there. Poisoned himself. Such a waste of life. Lit the shrine on fire. We managed to salvage some important things, but…” he sighed, dropped his head back again.

Clara shifted, turning slightly so that her chest pressed against his, though his armor was a hard barrier between them. “I’m sorry,” she said, elbows against his chest, her hands on either side of his head. “I know how important this is to you.” 

Opening his eyes he looked at her again, met the soft brown of her gaze and his chest felt very tight. Like there was a heavy weight on it, and it had nothing to do with the woman leaning against him. And yet, it had everything to do with her. “We’ll get him, eventually,” he said, though he wasn’t paying much attention to the conversation at this point, his mind so caught up in this woman. 

She smiled a little, a gentle curve of her lips. “I really do need to go, Commander,” she murmured. “I still have work to do, and so do you, judging by the piles of papers on your desk.” 

Cullen groaned but didn’t resist as she slid from his lap. Though once she stood, he caught the folds of her skirt and gave it a little tug, drawing her back toward him. She turned looked at him with lifted brows. “See you tomorrow?” he asked.

Clara leaned down, one hand cupping his jaw, and brushed a tender kiss over his lips. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Commander. Do try and get some rest.” Then she was gone, and Cullen had no other choice but to tend to his own duties. Though all the while, Clara was a constant presence in the back of his mind.

The letter was delivered just as Clara was finishing work. Etta waved goodbye and Clara couldn’t deny that she was in a good mood. The last month, with Cullen gone, she and Etta had spent every night together, and she was grateful for that since before the end of the week Etta would be heading out to the Western Approach to finally rejoin Rylen. As much as Clara knew she’d miss her friend, she was excited for her.

Cullen had returned, and if she was honest with herself, she’d missed him. He was sweet and kind and though she still had no illusions about what they really were to each other, she enjoyed their time together. Enjoyed those little peeks into who the Commander actually was. Up the stairs, and into his office he was already at his desk, and when he looked up he smiled and she felt light as air. Her heart fluttered and when he crooked a finger, she went, climbing into his lap and kissing him as if she had every right.

He fisted one hand in her hair, the other at the small of her back, and kissed her back with just as much urgency before breaking away. “What’s this?” he asked of the envelope clutched in her hand. 

“Oh, Magda wrote,” she said, and so eager to see Cullen she hadn’t bothered to take it to her quarters first. 

“How is your family?” he asked before she could tuck it away into her pocket. 

“I’m sure they’re fine,” she said, knowing that he wouldn’t truly want to know.

Cullen shook his head and caught the envelope when she would have put it out of sight. “You haven’t even read it?” he asked. “Clara,” he chided, but there was warmth to his tone. “Read your letter, tell me how your family is,” he insisted, and broke the wax seal.

Taking it back, she tugged the papers free, and Cullen leaned forward, setting the discarded envelope on the desk and then rested his hands on her waist and looked at her. She hesitated a moment, and then lowered her head and began reading.

Family and business were doing well. They were safe. “Oh,” she said when flipped to the next page. “Iva,” she sighed and turned the page for Cullen to see. Several sketches.

“Now, don’t tell me,” he said as he took the page with almost reverent hands. “Your mother and father,” he said, pointing to a sketch of a woman, clad in long sleeves and a heavy looking apron, wielding a massive hammer over an anvil, then a short dwarven man holding a bushel of carrots.”

“Yes,” Clara smiled, settling closer, leaning into him, and he turned the page so they could both more easily see it, his arm wrapping around her waist again. 

“Madga, of course,” he said, of the woman with hands resting on her swollen belly. “And her husband, Rugor.” The sketch of a young girl with sword in hand, snarling at a boy nearly a foot taller than her. “Minka and, whose he?”

“A boy in the town. There is quite the rivalry between them. He’s been formally trained as a swordsman, and Minka can still beat him,” she laughed delighted that Cullen remembered these little details about her family. 

The last picture made Clara’s heart clench in her chest. Hands holding a sketchpad and charcoal. Iva’s view of her own lap, and in front of her, a woman, her face turned away. Shoulder length hair obscuring her face. A tear rolled down her cheek and she quickly dashed it away. Was that Iva’s way of telling her she couldn’t even remember what she looked like anymore? That she’d been gone for so long she was barely even a memory?

Setting the letter and drawing aside, Cullen cupped Clara’s face, his thumbs wiping at the dampness beneath her eyes. “You should go see your family,” he said softly and Clara shook her head.

“I can’t. It’s so far, and I can’t just take the time, plus, the roads are dangerous,” she wiped at her own face, embarrassed by how much that sketch hurt.

“I’ll arrange it. The Inquisition can spare a soldier or two to accompany you to Westwend so you can visit with your family.” 

She was shaking her head, unable to comprehend what Cullen was offering. “No, no the Inquisition-” they needed those soldiers. As if the other leaders would approve sending off one or even two just for a servant to go visit family? It was absurd. 

Cullen caught her face in his hands again, tugged her head down to his so their foreheads met. “Let me do this for you, Clara. As soon as I return from the Winter Palace I’ll arrange it.”

Staring into his eyes, Clara was afraid that she’d start crying and if she did that, she’d never stop. So instead, she closed that final distance and claimed his mouth with her own. Her fingers slid into his hair and he groaned into her mouth, clutching her to him. Then he leaned forward and she heard several thumbs and crashes, the sound of broken glass and papers fluttering to the floor and she wrenched her mouth away just as Cullen lifted her and laid her out on his now bare desk.

“Cullen!” she gasped in surprise. The papers were scattered everywhere. An inkpot shattered in a dark pool. But then he was moving over her, one hand hitching her skirt up, sliding between her thighs to cup her intimately and she bowed beneath him, moaning softly. He pushed down the neckline of her dress with the other hand, cupped her breast, and squeezed as he took her mouth once more. 

He kept up the wonderful torture until she was soaking wet and two fingers slipped inside easily. He’d become a master at drawing pleasure from her body and Clara moaned into his mouth, already feeling as if she was on the edge.

A distant thump, a pause, and then knocking. “Cullen? Cullen are you in there?” The Inquisitor’s voice. A broken sob. “Cullen, please, are you-” Another sob.

Cullen felt stupidly frozen. Ellana at the door, obviously sobbing, Clara beneath him, on the edge of orgasm. But then she was gently pushing him off her, righting her skirts. She pinched his arm, jerked her head toward the door where the Inquisitor waited. “Just-just a moment,” he called and looked at Clara. She’d set herself to rights, frowned down at the mess he’d made on the floor but then looked at him. She reached up and Cullen leaned down as she stroked her fingers through his hair, smoothing it out, he imagined, and then she walked away, to the opposite door.

She looked at him, then at the other door once more, and then she was gone. “Cullen, please, I need to-” he looked around, frantic. There was nothing he could do about the mess. The scattered papers. He reached up, rubbed his hands over his face, and cursed quietly because he could smell Clara’s desire on his hands. He cursed again, found his gloves, and yanked them on before striding across the room to the door. 

He pulled it open, found Ellana, clutching a letter, tears streaming down her cheeks. “They’re gone,” she told him. “My clan- the soldiers- they fought. They’re all dead.” 

Sorrow and guilt slammed into him. It had been his idea to send the troops. “Ellana, I am so sorry. I thought-” He’d thought the soldiers would keep them safe. But reading over the letter she held, he saw that was not the case. “Come, let's-” he gestured forward on the battlements, because he couldn’t have her in his office, couldn’t explain the disaster he’d made. “I cannot apologize enough,” he said quietly. Her clan was dead. Any who remained scattered with the winds. 

“It isn’t your fault,” she said, her voice rough from tears. “I agreed, I thought it was the right choice too. I just- now what? I can’t even mourn them properly. I can’t go and plant the trees and-” Ellana buried her face in her hands and Cullen hesitated a moment before laying a hand on her back. 

“We’ll figure something out, Ellana,” he vowed. Wishing he knew what to do. Surely, Leliana could track those who remained of her Clan and perhaps bring them to Skyhold. Unless they held the Inquisition, held Ellana responsible, for the slaughter. 


	12. Chapter 12

Clara didn’t see Cullen again after they were interrupted by the Inquisitor that evening before they left for Halamshiral. Which was disappointing, but they had returned early that afternoon and Clara was eager to see him. His promise that he’d make sure that she could go home to visit her family meant so much to her. It was hard to believe that they had been doing this for nearly a year, though it had only been the last few months that it had slowly begun to shift.

She knew it, tried to ignore it. Because Clara was well aware he didn’t love her, would never love her. And he had been spending an awful lot of time with the Inquisitor lately. Letting herself into his office she glanced around, found it empty. Likely still in the war room meeting. His desk had been haphazardly reorganized after he’d shoved everything off to lay her out on it. Her cheeks flushed at the memory. A dark ink stain the only evidence of his enthusiasm. 

Setting the basket down by the door, she picked up the fresh linens and used her apron tucked into the waistband to leave her hands free to climb the ladder. Up she went, thinking of climbing into his lap later, the feel of his mouth on her throat. The scrape of his stubble against her skin.

So caught up in her thoughts, Clara didn’t notice the figure stretched out in the bed at first. “Oh,” the woman said and Clara just blinked. Ellana Lavellan sat in the center of the bed, the thin sheet held against her breasts. Naked and tousled. Clara couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Blood rushed in her ears and she felt a painful burning at the backs of her eyes. “You can just leave those,” the Inquisitor gestured to the dresser. “I’ll see that they get changed later.” 

“Of course,” Clara whispered, ducking her head. Numbly she walked over to set them down and saw the other woman’s discarded clothing. Scattered as if ripped off in the throes of passion. Unexpected vicious pain lanced her heart. “My lady,” Clara gave a perfunctory curtsey and descended the ladder. 

She was an idiot. A complete and total fool. Halfway across the room, she heard the other door open and silently cursed. “Clara,” Cullen’s voice reached her ears and she set her shoulders, turned slightly. His lips were parted, there was a slight hesitation.

“Cullen?” Ellana called from the loft and he glanced up, and there was no surprise on his face. Of course not. He looked back at Clara, and she saw regret in his eyes, but she forced a smile onto her face, gave her shoulders a small shrug as if to say it wasn’t a big deal. This was what they’d known was going to happen from the beginning. Then she grabbed her basket and quickly left.

Clara desperately wished she didn’t have to return to work. She wanted to go to her own quarters and weep like a child for being such a fool. But that wasn’t an option. She made her way back down into the laundry room and kept her head down as she worked. Over and over her mind replaying seeing the Inquisitor in his bed. 

Hadn’t that said everything right there? 

Ellana Lavellan was in Cullen’s bed.

His bed.

The bed she’d regularly been in, but only to change the sheets.

Not once had he taken her there. No. It had been any surface but. 

Then Clara began to wonder, how long had they been together? Since the Shrine of Dumat? Not before that, she knew, or at least, she was fairly certain. But they’d spent all those weeks on the road together, and when the Inquisitor had returned she’d run straight to Cullen. And all the while, he’d been pretending he cared, about her, about her family.

Offering to send her home.

Fresh pain stole her breath. 

Was that why he wanted to send her home? To make sure she was out of the way? Wouldn’t interfere with his new relationship with the Inquisitor?

Cullen watched Clara disappear out the door and clenched his jaw. Not like this. That was not how she was supposed to find out. He owed her the truth. Climbing up the ladder to his bedroom he found Ellana perched in his bed, obviously naked beneath the thin sheet. “I told you I wanted to wait,” he said, arms over his chest.

She smiled at him, a coy thing, and slowly let the sheet fall away to pool at her waist. “You said you wanted to wait until we’d returned to Skyhold.” Then leaning forward, lithe as a cat, she went on her hands and knees and crawled to the foot of the bed where he stood. “And we’re back in Skyhold. And here I am, positively naked in your bed,” she reached out, fingers curling in the waistband of his trousers to tug him forward. “All yours for the taking.” She looked up at him through thick lashes. 

This was what he’d wanted. 

He’d spent months and months pining after this woman. Knowing that if she’d just give him a chance, what they could have would be so good. He wanted this, he reminded himself, reaching out to slide a hand into her hair.

Clara. Clara had been just as insistent that it was casual. Just sex. And hadn’t her smile and shrug as she’d left been more proof of that? She didn’t care that the Inquisitor had been in his bed.

But he still owed her an explanation. It was why he’d wanted to wait. To tell her before anything happened with the Inquisitor, to end it properly. He’d track her down later, he thought, and reminded himself again, the Inquisitor was the woman he wanted. 

Ellana closed her eyes, arching into his touch, and then she moved back, stretched out on the bed, and crooked a finger at him. He wanted her. She was beautiful. All toned muscle and strength. They were a perfect match. Making quick work of removing his armor, he set it on the dresser beside the fresh sheets and felt a slight pang in his chest. 

Clara, always so kind. He shook his head, turned and crawled onto the bed with Ellana, and let himself get lost in her.

Clara’s emotions kept shifting between rage and sorrow. He’d used her, and of course, he had, that had been the entire point of their trysts. And Clara knew she had no right to be so angry with him. When she scraped her knuckles against the edge of the wooden basin it was the final straw. All the silent emotions she’d been holding onto while she’d worked exploded. “Fucking damnit!” she shouted and felt everyone’s eyes turn to her. 

Tears were pouring down her cheeks before she even realized it and she felt like such an idiot. “Hey,” Etta’s voice was soft and she was suddenly in front of her, taking Clara’s now bleeding hand in her own and covering her knuckles with a bit of cloth. “Come on,” she said quietly and Clara didn’t resist as her friend urged her up and out of the laundry room. 

Etta nudged Clara down onto the edge of her bed and dragged a chair over before grabbing the box of healing supplies Clara kept on a little shelf. “I’m such a fucking idiot,” Clara whispered viciously, staring down at the crisp white linen on her hand. 

“No you aren’t,” Etta murmured sitting in front of her. She drew the lid off the box and rested Clara’s injured hand on her thigh. “The Commander is.”

“How did you know?” Clara asked, her voice tight. “When did you know?”

Etta was quiet for a moment, dabbing at her knuckles. “You’ve got some pretty big splinters,” she warned producing a pair of tweezers from the box.

“When?” Clara asked again because she couldn’t imagine Etta would have known and kept it from her. But if she had- she couldn’t handle that on top of everything else.

“About an hour ago,” Etta said with a sigh as she went to work, on pulling the slivers of wood from Clara’s skin. “Word spread pretty fast after they were seen kissing on the battlements.” 

Tears continued to roll down Clara’s cheeks, unchecked. “I’m so stupid.”

“Stop that,” Etta said sharply. “You are not.”

“She was in his bed, Etta.” Clara looked up, met her friend’s gaze before covering her face with her other hand. “She was in his bed. I don’t know why- why does  _ that  _ hurt so much? I know I wasn’t supposed to fall for him, I knew he’d never love me, not when he wanted her. So why does the fact that she was in his bed hurt  _ so much _ ?” she sobbed and Etta wrapped her arms around her, held onto her tightly, one hand smoothing her hair while Clara pressed her face into her shoulder. 

“He’s a selfish bastard and he doesn’t deserve you,” Etta murmured, drawing back to wipe at Clara’s cheeks before returning to her hand. “I want you to go to the Western Approach.”

Clara frowned, shaking her head. “What?”

“I’ll write to Rylen, so he’ll be expecting you.”

Still shaking her head, Clara tried to process the words. “No, no Etta, you’re supposed to leave tomorrow. You’re going.”

Etta offered her a sad smile. “No, I’m not, you are. Please, Clara, let me do this for you, alright? You’re my best friend and you always put everyone else first. I know where Ry and I stand. I want you to go and take some time. Figure things out. Take the break you deserve. And in a few months, maybe you’ll come back. Or maybe you’ll finally go back home to your family. Or maybe you’ll decide to make a life somewhere else.” 

The tears flowed faster now as Clara stared at Etta. “I hope that Rylen knows just how lucky he is,” she managed around the lump in her throat.

Etta flashed her a grin as she finished bandaging Clara’s hand. “He does. But I do expect you to remind him every single day.”

A laugh broke free, and Clara leaned forward to wrap her friend in a tight embrace. “I love you, Etta.”

“I love you too, Clara.” 

Pulling back, Clara wiped at her cheeks and looked around her small room. “You’re certain?” she asked and caught the look Etta sent her way as she returned the healing supplies to the shelf. “Help me pack?”


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am really not loving how this chapter turned out, for some reason, it was a struggle, but it is what it is, and we're going with it.

After several days, Cullen still hadn’t sought out Clara. He was a bastard for it, and he knew it. But he didn’t know where her quarters were, and seeking her out while she was working wasn’t something he was willing to do. He’d track her down, just as soon as he had a free moment. 

Which he knew, wouldn’t be any time soon. With so many preparations regarding Adamant Fortress, and dealing with the Grey Wardens, Cullen felt like he barely had a moment to breathe. And perhaps, he was being a coward. More than likely, Clara didn’t even care. 

They had been upfront with each other about it not being a relationship. That little smile along with her shrug. He had no reason to feel guilty. While the way she’d found out had been unkind, he’d never lied about his desire to be with Ellana. So why was it a constant nagging thought in the back of his mind?

Hunched over the papers on his desk he frowned, squinting in the dim lantern light. His stomach let out a rumble and he sat back, realizing he hadn’t eaten dinner, so caught up in his reports and plans. When the door opened, Cullen looked up, and shame was a punch in the gut. 

It was Ellana who slipped in and closed the door behind her. Not Clara, who for those moments before he saw Ellana, he'd hoped it would be. “By the Dread Wolf, if Josephine has me signing any more missives for nobles, I may cut off my own hand,” she said with a laugh, sauntering over to his desk. “I see you’re up to much of the same. Have you eaten yet?” 

One of her hands curled around his shoulder and she shifted forward, her knee resting against the edge of the chair beside his leg, in a move that would easily let her slide into his lap. “No,” he said quickly, grabbing her hips to prevent the motion. Ellana went still. “I haven’t eaten, I was just thinking how hungry I was,” he nudged her back, hands gentling. “Shall we go to the tavern?” he asked, leaning in for a kiss.

“Are you alright?” Ellana asked, kissing him back. Reaching up she stroked a hand through his hair. “No issues with the lyrium?” she asked. 

“No,” he reassured her. It wasn’t a complete truth, but he found he was reluctant to share that with Ellana, though he couldn't quite put his finger on why. So he took her hand and they made their way down to the tavern. Seated with their drinks, waiting on their meal their conversation almost immediately turned to the coming battle. But as they sat there, Cullen found himself growing increasingly annoyed with each interruption. It was to be expected. A quick word from a soldier for him, or a question for the Inquisitor. Ellana took it all in stride, never seeming frustrated with the continued disturbances. 

Hours later they tumbled into Ellana’s bed, and Cullen lost himself in the pleasure of being with her, and later, he held Ellana as she curled up against him and slept. He wanted this. Wanted her. It would get better, once the battle of Adamant was done. One less stress. They were a good fit, he knew that.

As the days passed, Cullen always found some excuse not to seek out Clara and give her the apology he owed. Busy with one thing or another. He found himself working more, spending more time preparing with the troops. And every night, he and Ellana shared her bed.

The first time he shook out a fresh tunic and found the large burn mark from an iron he assumed it was an accident. The third and fourth time he grew steadily more frustrated. Clara wasn’t so petty. She had no reason to be. Etta would have departed, so perhaps it was a new servant in the laundry room. But on the final day of making preparations for leaving for Adamant Fortress and Cullen found that every single one of his tunics and half of his breeches were marred in some way, he’d finally had enough.

“You’re in a foul temper,” Ellana commented as they stood around the war table.

“Look at this,” he said, showing off the sleeve of his tunic, burned straight through. “Every single one of my shirts is like this.”

Leliana let out a quiet little laugh. “Who in the laundry room did you anger?”

“No one,” he snapped and then turned pleading eyes to Josephine. He didn’t have time to deal with this, and of course, neither did she, but among them, she was the most diplomatic.

Making a quiet sound, she made a note on her paper. “I will speak with the head laundress.”

The next day Cullen departed for Adamant Fortress with his troops and their siege armor. When the time came for the battle, he and Ellana shared a quick kiss. “You’ll be careful,” he insisted.

“You too, Cullen.” Then she was gone, taking up her place with her companions. He quickly lost sight of her as the battle got underway. Cullen sent up a silent prayer for her, and all of his soldiers as he watched his men and the Grey Wardens battled and fell.

The battle raged. Several of the men with him had fallen to the demons they fought. Hearing a deafening roar, he turned. The dragon. It was bearing down on him. 

They wouldn’t survive this, he thought. Far more outmatched than they’d anticipated. Add in the dragon. Tightening his grip on his sword he drew in a breath and closed his eyes for a second to steady himself. 

Clara’s smiling face was all he saw. Soft brown eyes, round cheeks, and full lips. 

Not a single thought for Ellana, the woman he’d spent so long believing he loved. 

Only Clara.

He’d been an idiot. All that time wrapped up in the fantasy of what he could have, if he just had the chance, he’d missed out on what he actually had right in front of him. Would Clara even care about his new revelation? Would she want to be with him for more than just sex?

Maker, he hoped so.

Though hours later, that hopeful resolve had vanished in the wake of the battle. Ellana and her companions and vanished into the fade and returned one short. Hawke was nowhere to be seen, and then, after a short speech, Ellana had disappeared once more. It didn’t take long for him to track her down though with the help of the soldiers.

“Ellana,” he stepped into her tent. Perhaps not the most ideal time for such a discussion, but he’d end it, tell her the truth, and- the thought broke off when he saw her.

Ellana sat perched on the edge of a crate, still clad in blood and ichor stained armor, her arms wrapped around her middle, tears were streaming down her cheeks. Tilting her head up, she looked at Cullen and it felt like a punch straight into his chest. “Hawke’s gone,” she breathed. “Varric will never forgive me. What did I-” her breath caught. “More blood on my hands. Another life. Cullen- How many more deaths will I be responsible for before this is all over?”

Crossing to her, Cullen crouched in front of her and closed his eyes as she wrapped her arms around him and clung to him, her frame shaking with her broken sobs. This was what he’d wanted, he reminded himself. The woman he’d sought for so long. He had no claim on Clara. His choice had been made.

He and Ellana were a good match. Maybe not the love match he’d once thought, but maybe over time that could grow. And there was no guarantee that Clara would have wanted him anyways.

They returned to Skyhold and Cullen was at a loss. Losing Hawke had seemed to be the final breaking point for Ellana. They still shared a bed every night, but that was as far as it went, and in the days since arriving at Skyhold, the only time he knew Ellana got out of bed was to use the privy.

He didn’t know what to do. Didn’t know how to help her. They still had more to do, battles to fight and Corypheus had to be stopped. Standing at his desk he shuffled through a stack of papers, searching for some missive he remembered seeing, a report about potential darkspawn. But instead, he found a page of sketches. Iva’s drawings that Clara had so proudly shown him that day all those weeks ago.

He found the letter addressed to her as well and sunk down into his chair. Cullen missed Clara terribly. He’d been a fool, he was a fool. He’d need to return these to her, and his stomach twisted with guilt. He wanted to see Clara again, wished he’d seen it all sooner. Realized what he had right in his lap.

Tracing a fingertip over the sketch of Clara, he heaved a sigh. It would be better if he had someone else deliver this to her, he thought. 

“Commander,” a soldier in the doorway had him looking up. “You wanted to know when the scouts from the Wastes returned?”

“Of course, thank you,” Cullen set the papers down on his desk and left his office, to deal with the matter at hand.

It was hours before Cullen finally made it back to his office, dealing with one thing after another. He was surprised to see Ellana there, sitting at his desk. “You’re up,” he said dumbly.

Her lips curved slightly, but the smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Cassandra threatened to handcuff me to her and force me to run laps if I didn’t get out of bed.” 

“Well, I am glad,” Cullen said and then there was a silence in the room. He wasn’t sure what to do, or what to say. He was utterly out of his element and didn’t know how to comfort her.

Ellana was watching him, her expression unreadable and Cullen felt a bead of sweat trickle down his spine as he suddenly remembered the papers he’d left on his desk. In plain view. “Who’s Clara?” she asked, picking up those exact papers.


	14. Chapter 14

Clara sat on a blanket, beneath a makeshift umbrella on one of the towers of the fortress that wasn’t currently being used as a lookout. She held a book propped on her knees, but she wasn’t reading, long since having lost interest in the book. For the first few weeks at the fortress, Clara had thought it was a mistake and regretted letting Etta push her into it.

She felt out of place. She didn’t know most of these people, not like Etta had. Not to mention Clara had never seen so much sand. It went on and on for miles. And it was dreadfully hot, inescapable until the sun set and then it was so cold Clara was certain she’d never be warm again.

But as the days passed, she grew more accustomed to it all. She wasn’t welcome down in the laundry room. She wasn’t a servant here. She just… was. And it had taken time to get used to that. Clara had worked nearly every day of her life since she’d been seventeen. To suddenly be told she was meant to relax, she’d been lost.

Clara had found some books but found most to be full of boring information that she could hardly comprehend. Some days she joined the soldiers in the sparring, but still, she found she had more hours in the day than she knew what to do with. It left her with too much time to think. 

Her heart still ached. She hadn’t meant to fall for Cullen. That had never been a part of their agreement. She’d known well and good going into it, that he was infatuated with the Inquisitor. Clara never thought she’d be so daft to let her heart get involved. But she had, and now she had to suffer the consequences.

It wasn’t Cullen’s fault, and she knew her anger was unjustified. But it was the underhanded way he’d gone about it. If he’d simply outright told her, rather than stumbling into discovering the Inquisitor in his bed.

The memory of that still made her throat tight. Of course, the Inquisitor would be in his bed. That was where you were meant to take the ones you loved. Bent over a desk, or chair, or pinned to a wall, that was for the quick, meaningless fucks.

She wouldn’t return to Skyhold. Couldn’t imagine it. Couldn’t stand the thought of having to bear witness daily to the Commander and the Inquisitor’s doting. But it felt unfair that she’d taken Etta’s place at the fortress. She could go anywhere. Take another job where she wouldn’t be appreciated. Or take her meager savings and return home. Clara didn’t know what she’d do for work if she did that. She didn’t have any skills beyond running a household. 

Though going home and letting her parents arrange a marriage was always an option. She didn’t have to love her husband. She’d always wanted that, but it wasn’t required, she supposed. And if Clara left, then maybe Etta would finally be able to come and join Rylen. 

  
  


_ No one. _

Cullen opened his mouth to say just that, but the words wouldn’t come. Clara wasn’t  _ no one _ . Ellana was just staring at him, waiting for an answer, and he couldn’t give her one. 

_ The woman I think I’m actually in love with. _

_ These last months were a mistake. I never should have agreed to go to bed with you. _

“You know I’m not going to judge you for sleeping with her. Mythal knows I have no room for that. But,” a pause as she set the papers back down. “Are you still sleeping with her?”

“No,” Cullen said quickly, slashing his hand through the air. Maker, when would he even have the time? Raking his hands through his hair, Cullen began to pace. “She’s a laundress, we started-” fucking just sounded so crude, and while that may have been what it was at the start - “having a liaison a little over a year ago. After we got to Skyhold.” 

Glancing at Ellana she stared at him, looking slightly stunned. “She always knew I was in love with you. Knew it would end if you ever-” he broke off again.

“She was the woman who found me in your bed,” Ellana said quietly.

Cullen heaved a sigh. “Yes.”

Pushing up from where she sat Ellana threw her hands out. “Why didn’t you just tell me?! Oh, by the Dread Wolf - that is how she found out it was over? By finding me in your bed?”

“I saw her down here, after,” Cullen told her. “She didn’t look particularly phased.”

“Oh, Cullen,” Ellana shook her head. “You’re an idiot.” Startled, just stared at her. “You should have just told me  _ why  _ you wanted to wait.”

She ran her hands over her face and Cullen just watched her. He’d made mistake after mistake. So caught up in the fantasy of the life he thought he could have with Ellana. His only defense was that it was all new to him. His relationships in the past had involved two encounters with fellow templars, neither of which were more than a quick tryst. “I was worried you’d change your mind,” he admitted. 

Her brows drew together and she took a step away from the desk. “I don’t love you, Cullen. You’re wonderful and I do care about you but… I won’t say I’m incapable of love… but…” she shook her head and looked at him with sorrow in her eyes. “I didn’t realize your feelings for me were so… strong. I never would have done this if I had. I’m not cut out for relationships, Cullen, and I’m not going to be your happily ever after, I’m sorry.” 

Cullen watched Ellana slip out the door and leave and he thought he should feel something, anything more than the simple worry for Ellana and all she’d been through, would go through before this war was over. Crossing to his desk, Cullen picked up the papers and knew he had to return them to Clara, and maybe, if he was very lucky, she might forgive him. 

He’d grovel if that’s what it took. With papers in hand, he left his office, made his way to the laundry room, and cursed the stairs that lead down into the room. Maker, it really was a wonder Clara hadn’t broken her neck that day she’d taken a tumble down them. 

When he stepped into the hot, steaming room, all heads turned, dozens of eyes on him. “Clara-” he said, his eyes darting from one face to another, he didn’t see hers. But he did see - startled he met Etta’s gaze, and she looked furious. “Where-where is she?” Etta was supposed to have left weeks ago. Months? Maker’s breath.

“Not here, Commander,” another woman said, arms crossing over her chest. “Clara left our employ nearly three months ago.” 

Cullen was stunned, and, utterly ashamed. Three months. She’d left three months ago and he hadn’t known. He hadn’t sought her out. “Where-” the words seemed to catch in his throat. Where did she go? Why had she left? Surely not… she wouldn’t have left because of him? Because of his relationship with the Inquisitor?

“Commander,” the woman, obviously the head laundress put her hands on her hips. “If you don’t mind we are all quite busy.” 

Dismissed, he looked to Etta again, knew there would be nothing forthcoming from her and so he turned and left. Returning to his office, he sat at his desk and stared at the papers. Would Leliana know? Of course, she would. Unless Clara had simply slipped out in the dead of night? 

Andraste, was she alright? Was she safe? Fear and worry began to set in. Had she gone home? That was a long journey and if she’d gone by herself- No, he couldn’t even bear that thought. Leliana would know. She had to. 

Standing once more, he was going to go find the woman and ask, beg, plead - but the door opened and Etta stood there. The anger on her face seemed to have multiplied exponentially since he’d seen her down in the laundry room. “How dare you!” she snarled at him. 

“Where is she? Etta-”

“You’re a fucking bastard.” He had no argument for that, Etta was absolutely right. “Let me guess,” she said, hands on her hips, a picture of rage. “The Inquisitor finally got tired of you, and you decided that it was time to go back to the woman who put up with your bullshit.”

Again, what was he supposed to say? “That isn’t-” while it wasn’t entirely true, it held more truth than Cullen wanted to admit.

Etta sliced her hand in front of her. “Shut up,” she bit out the words. “I asked you, I explicitly asked you not to hurt her.” There were tears in Etta’s eyes, and Cullen felt his throat close up. Dread and misery growing inside him. “You made her cry.” Shame was a hot knife in his chest. “I have never seen her cry like that. You broke her heart, you fucking asshole.”

“It wasn’t-” Cullen said weakly. “It wasn’t meant to be any more than sex.” As if that was some grand defense. 

“Yes, well,” Etta snorted. “Looks like you both fucked that up.” She shook her head viciously. “You made her feel stupid. Do you know what hurt her the most? The fact that you had the Inquisitor in your bed. On the sheets,  _ she  _ changed. And in all the months that you were fucking Clara, you never once did it in that bed. You made it all very clear for her, you prick.” 

Cullen felt the blood drain from his face. He’d had reasons, there were  _ reasons  _ he hadn’t taken Clara to his bed. But, of course, Clara wouldn’t have known. He’d never told her. Why would he? It was meant to be casual. “Where is she?” he croaked. “Etta, please-”

“Fuck you.”

He deserved that, deserved all this woman’s anger. “Did she take your place at the Western Approach? Or did she return home? Go to another house to work?” Etta didn’t reply, her jaw clenched so tightly he could practically hear the bones grinding. “Is she safe? I’ll track her down, Etta. Leliana will be able to find her.” At least, he prayed that was true.

“And then what? What are you going to tell her? That you were so caught up in fucking the leader of the Inquisition that you didn’t even notice she was gone? That you had a ‘come to the Maker’ moment and realized you were madly in love with Clara, not the woman who barely gave you the time of day for months? That  _ you  _ ended things with the almighty Inquisitor because you realized your mistake?” Etta shook her head and wiped at a stray tear that trickled down her cheek. “I’m sure you’ll be able to track her down. But I won’t tell you a fucking thing. I refuse to help you cause her more heartache.”

“Etta, that isn’t-” 

“Fuck you, Commander,” she cut him off and stormed out the door, slamming it hard behind her.

Cullen’s shoulders sagged. He’d made her cry. Broken her heart. He deserved every accusation that Etta had thrown at him. And now what? They were in the middle of a war, the battle against Corypheus looming. Would Clara ever even forgive him? He didn’t know, but he was going to find out. Jogging across the battlements to the other tower, he practically ran up the stairs to Leliana’s space and found the Nightengale standing, arm outstretched with one of her crows perched on it. “I need your help in tracking a woman down,” Cullen said. Because he’d screwed this all up once already. He was going to do everything he could to make it right.


	15. Chapter 15

“Let me in.”

Rylen stood, arms over his chest, staring through the iron gate at his friend. “Absolutely not,” he shot back, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Soldier,” Cullen looked to the man who stood a foot away, pretending not to be listening to their conversation. “Open this gate at once.”

Rylen glanced over, saw the panic on the soldier's face. “Do not touch that lever,” he said, then looked back to Cullen. “I hadn’t truly believed Etta when she wrote that you were coming.” Cullen looked exhausted. Two weeks was a long time on the road alone, especially when traversing through the desert.

“Damn it, Rylen,” Cullen grit out.

“No, no! Don’t you dare!” the shout came from somewhere behind him, distant. Rylen saw the recognition of her voice in Cullen’s eyes and he turned, jogging in the direction of Clara’s shriek. No one would hurt her, he knew that. The soldiers and scouts were people he trusted. But if someone had gotten in- he skidded to a halt, his gaze taking in everything in a moment.

The lookouts were all perched where they were meant to be, though many were looking down on the small group who had caused the ruckus. Hands on his hips, Rylen cleared his throat. They all froze, turned, guilty expressions on every single face. Except for Clara’s. Her lips were pursed, she was trying to look contrite. But it was difficult when a very large snowball was rapidly melting on the top of her head.

It wasn’t an unusual sight, the mages who had an affinity for the cooler elements, ice, and water, often did such things. A welcome escape from the endless sandy wasteland around them. 

Judging from the wet splotches on Clara’s dress, they had ganged up on her. “Knight-Captain,” one of the scouts said, hands out in front of him, as if ready to plead for his mercy. He turned his head, but he saw the movement from the corner of his eye. 

Clara pulling her hand from behind her back. She drew her arm back, and the snowball was flying. It struck the side of his head, landed with a wet plop in the collar of his shirt, and was almost immediately melting down his chest. Turning his head he gave her a narrow-eyed look, she was grinning, though the others looked half-terrified. “Your aim has gotten better,” Rylen commented.

Clara let out a delighted laugh and Rylen just shook his head.

  
“Open this gate right now, soldier,” Cullen demanded of the man left waiting after Rylen had run off. Clara. That was her voice, her scream. His heart was pounding in his chest, terrified and desperate. “Now,” he growled and the soldier finally obeyed. Then Cullen ran through the fortress, noting the direction everyone seemed to be looking. There was no screaming, no shouts. He heard nothing as he darted around a corner. Then he heard her laughter. The sound that made his heart skip a beat. 

Clara, doubled over, hands on her stomach as she laughed. Cullen stood there in the doorway, dumbly just staring at her. His chest felt so tight he could barely breathe. That sound, Maker, he’d missed that sound. She straightened up, mischievous joy dancing on her face. Her very pink face. But how much was from the heat, the snow, or the sun he wasn’t sure. “Oh, Rylen,” she said as she began to walk closer to him.

Then her gaze shifted beyond Rylen and all amusement, all that joy vanished in the blink of an eye. Her hands fell to her sides and she stared for a moment, then turned her head looked at Rylen. “Excuse me, Knight-Captain,” she gave a slight curtsey and turned to walk away.

“Clara, wait,” Cullen took a step forward. “Wait please,” he begged and didn’t care who heard him. Though the group who had been a part of the snowball fight seemed to have scattered, Cullen knew there were others up on the ramparts, hiding around corners. “Clara,” his voice sounded desperate to his own ears. 

She turned her body slightly, wouldn’t meet his gaze, and gave another curtsey. “Commander,” she inclined her head. “I have… work to do.” 

Clara started to turn away again, but Cullen remembered the letter, the one that Etta had angrily shoved into his hand before he’d departed, with the unfinished threat of ‘if you hurt her again…’. “Wait,” he pulled it from his pocket. A little damaged, a little worse for wear from the journey. “Your sister wrote,” he held it out.

For a second Clara didn’t move, then she reached out, snatched it from his hand, as if he might bite, and then she was gone, running up a set of stairs and disappearing from sight. Cullen stared after her, until Rylen cleared his throat, his arms going over his chest once more. Cullen didn’t know how much his friend knew of what had happened, but he imagined he knew enough.

“How has she been?” Cullen asked quietly. Seeing her happy had been the best thing he’d seen in months. He was a fool, an idiot, and he didn’t even know where to begin in trying to make up for it.

Barely a handful of minutes had passed since she’d left, but she shouted “Rylen!” and then Clara was running back down the stairs, the letter clutched in her hand as she held her skirts up. Both Cullen and Rylen lurched forward before she reached the bottom of the stairs, certain she’d fall. But she didn’t, and Cullen caught her against him as she reached the landing. 

Clara shoved him away and turned to Rylen, and while it hurt his pride, Cullen couldn’t blame her. “I have to go,” she said in a rush, lifting the letter. “Minka and Iva - oh, ancestor’s - Minka ran away and Iva went after her. They’re missing and shit-” a sob escaped her and she didn’t push Rylen away when he slid his arms around her shoulders. “It’s been weeks,” she told him. “I have to go. I have to-”

“I’ll take you,” Cullen said immediately, knowing how important it would be for Clara to get home.

“Absolutely not,” she bit out, barely glancing at him.

“Clara, lass,” Rylen ran a hand from the top of her head down over her hair. “I don’t have anyone to spare. I can’t send anyone with you and I can’t let you go out there alone. It isn’t safe. Besides, Etta would have my head if anything happened to you.” 

“But-” Cullen saw the emotions flashing across her face. She was distraught and terrified.

“Let the Commander take you, I’ll write ahead, have someone meet you when you’re near Skyhold to escort you the rest of the way.” She didn’t want to agree, Cullen could see that clearly. But she was desperate to return home. Jaw clenched she gave a slight jerk of her head. “Go and pack a small bag, I’ll see that the rest of your belongings are sent along behind, alright?”

Clara left again and Rylen turned to Cullen. “Are you certain?” he asked. “You haven’t slept in days, and it’ll be days more-”

Cullen shook his head. “It’ll be fine.” Cullen never slept well while traveling, being alone had made that worse, with no one to stand guard while he’d been traveling through the desert. A few more days and they’d be able to find lodgings at night, where Cullen would be able to rest slightly better. 

Rylen shouted some orders, having someone get them provisions, and switching out Cullen’s horse, and having another prepared for Clara as they began to walk down to the stables. “You messed up with her,” Rylen said shaking his head and it was like a punch to the stomach.

“I know I did,” Cullen agreed. “But I’m going to do everything I can to make it right.”

The look Rylen gave him was so full of sympathy that Cullen’s heart sunk. “She’s Etta’s best friend, and I care about her too. Those first few weeks after she got here…” he shook his head. “You spent all those months thinking you were in love with the Inquisitor. Be certain this time.” 

Cullen felt a bit like a scolded child, but he nodded. Clara deserved better. Knowing that he’d made her cry, Maker, he’d never forgive himself for that. 

Clara arrived at the same time that the soldiers brought the bag containing food, and a tent, along with basic supplies, and plenty of water to get them back across the desert. She had changed into trousers and a loose tunic, her hair was pinned back, and she drew a scarf over her head to help protect from the sun. “I’ll send a letter to Skyhold just as soon as we’re done here,” Rylen reassured her and Clara nodded. “Write to Etta as soon as you’re home, alright?” 

“I will,” Clara promised and Cullen watched the two hug before she stepped back and turned. But she hesitated. Cullen stood holding the reins of his horse, while another soldier held the reigns for her own. She stared and then let out a low curse, and still, not looking at Cullen shook her head. “I can’t… I can’t ride. I’ve never- damn it,” her voice cracked.

“You’ll ride with me then,” Cullen said, and looked away, expecting a fight. He reached out, tugging her bag free from the other saddle, and secured it to his own. Clara was silent. Once everything was ready, he turned looked at her, and held out his hand. “It is this or waiting several weeks longer for someone to be able to travel from Skyhold.” 

Oh, she hated him. Clara hated Cullen so much in that moment, and what made it worse was knowing she had no right. She couldn’t figure out why he’d come all the way out here, and she knew it had nothing to do with the letter. It would have been far easier to send it by messenger bird as all their usual communications were done. But he was here, and he was her only way home, and Clara had to get home.

The thought of Minka running away was terrifying in and of itself, but to think that Iva had gone after her. What had they been thinking? 

Eyeing Cullen’s hand, she refused to take it. The idea of having to ride with him was bad enough. “Rylen?” she asked instead and he inclined his head, stepping with her up to the horse. A box was brought over for her step up onto, far too short to even reach the stirrup. Rylen’s hands steadied her and boosted her up into the saddle. 

After a moment, Cullen hoisted himself easily up behind her. “Safe travels,” Rylen said, and Cullen’s arms came around her waist. His body was a warm, familiar presence behind her, and her own body all too well what it was like to have his chest pressed against her back. She didn’t know what to do with her hands and curled them into fists in the front of her tunic. She held herself completely still, terrified because they were so high up. 

The quiet, terrified sound escaped her throat, and she felt Cullen’s arms tighten slightly against her. “I’ve got you,” he murmured softly and tears burned her eyes, how many times had he whispered that in far more intimate moments. One hand on the pommel, his other brushed against the back of one of hers. “Hold here, and relax your body,” he said, guiding the horse from the fortress with ease and out onto the sand. 

Clara let out an unamused snort. “Right, because that’s so easy,” she bit out, but put her hands where he said and felt slightly more steady. They progressed in silence for long minutes, Cullen easily handling the shifting sand as they rode at a steady clip. She desperately wanted to know why he’d come to the Western Approach but refused to ask because she was afraid the reason was going to hurt.

The sun was hot, beating down on them, and Clara was finding it more and more difficult to keep her rigid posture and she found herself sinking back against Cullen’s chest as it grew harder to keep her eyes open.

Cullen felt Clara’s body go lax against his, her head lolling against his shoulder. Reaching up he gently turned her head, making sure that the scarf would still protect her face. Then he rode, trying to figure out just what he was going to do to fix it all. He did love her.

Didn’t he?

Rylen’s words had him questioning everything. 

Cullen knew now, that he’d been in love with the idea of Ellana. And, perhaps under different circumstances, they could have been more. But, it wasn’t, and they weren’t. He accepted that, he was okay with that. 

Whereas Clara was so very different. It had started as sex. Blind lust and pleasure. So slowly it had shifted, until he looked forward to their evenings together, not solely for the pleasure of her body, but also because he enjoyed her company. He liked her soft smiles, her happiness revolving around other people’s joy. She was compassionate and had always had a kind hand or word for him. When he’d been ill, or her reassurance that he could be a better man than he was before.

And just what had he done for her?

Guilt was a heavy weight on his shoulders. 

He’d done nothing for her, given her nothing. Only taken. He’d offered to send her home to see her family. Then had forgotten. He hadn’t even known she’d left months earlier. He’d let her find out about his relationship with the Inquisitor in the cruelest of ways. Even if she cared nothing for him, to say it was unkind was the mildest of statements. 

Cullen knew Clara, he knew her heart. Knew how she loved her family and friends. But it wasn’t enough and he knew forgiveness wouldn’t come easy. About ten days, he had, to lay the groundwork and figure out if he even had a chance to make things right with her.


	16. Chapter 16

“Clara, Clara wake up.” Breath tickled her ear and she turned her head, squinting and shifting her weight. She felt her weight start to slip, arms tightened around her. “Clara.” Again, that voice. She knew that voice.

“What?” she managed out around her tongue that seemed stuck to the roof of her mouth.

“Wake up,” he murmured again. “We need to take a break, you need some water.”

Blinking rapidly to try and clear the grit from her eyes, finally, Clara’s brain seemed to clear just enough to recognize the man behind her, his hands on her hips. Cullen. Cullen was there, and she had been at the fortress and her sisters were missing. 

Cullen’s body was gone and she swayed, but his hands steadied her. “Don’t-” she wanted to swat at his hands, didn’t want him touching her, but she bit her tongue because if he didn’t help her she was going to fall flat on her face. “I don’t want to stop,” she said, staring down at the top of his head.

He was quiet for a moment, digging in one of the leather packs. “We need to rest-”

“I need to get home,” she snapped at him.

“The horse needs water, Clara. You need water. We’ve been riding for hours. You should stretch your legs, so you’ll be less sore later.” He reached up ready to help her down as soon as she relented. Clara wanted to curse him, to kick him, and take the horse on her own.

But she couldn’t. Even if she knew how to ride, she didn’t know the way back. Gritting her teeth she let him guide her off the horse and took the water skein he handed her. “There is a bit of shade,” he pointed to the massive rock they had stopped near.

Crossing to that small bit of shade, Clara sipped the water and tried not to watch Cullen as he tended to the horse. She did her best to ignore him and was dreading the coming days. Her worry for her sisters aside, spending every second with Cullen was going to be unbearable. Because despite everything she’d tried to convince herself of in the last few weeks, she still cared about him.

“Ready?” Cullen asked minutes later. Clara jerked her head in a nod, took one last sip of water before handing it back to him. He took several deep drinks, replaced it in the pack, and stood waiting to help her up onto the horse. There was no block this time, and the sand was unsteady beneath her feet. Clara was forced to rely on Cullen far more than she would have liked. But once she was in the saddle again, he easily climbed on behind her, and they were off again.

She was stiff, her body ached and she knew she’d be miserable for days until she grew accustomed to riding. Long minutes passed in silence and Clara considered letting herself drift off to sleep again, just for an escape.

“I owe you an apology,” Cullen said and there went Clara’s thoughts of napping.

“Whatever for?” she asked, aiming for flippancy. 

Several long seconds ticked by, she saw his hands tighten on the reins. “What happened between us,” he continued.

“You don’t owe me an apology for that, Commander,” she kept her tone light. “We agreed, it was consensual, a mutual agreement that either could end at any time.” 

“I didn’t mean for you to find out like that,” he kept his voice low. “I had told Ellana I wanted to wait. I wanted to speak with you first, to tell you-” 

He broke off and Clara clenched her jaw, then drew in a slow breath, ignoring the hurt and the aching in her chest. “How are things with the Inquisitor?” she asked, even though she didn’t want the answer. “Is it everything you hoped for?”

“Ellana and I… are no longer together.” Clara had known. She’d known all along that the Inquisitor wouldn’t settle down with Cullen and that he’d get his heart broken for it. But Clara hadn’t expected to be caught up in the middle of it. “I made a mistake, Clara. It took weeks to see clearly, but I love _you_.”

It felt like a blade to the chest and Clara was grateful that Cullen was stuck behind her and couldn’t see her face. Couldn’t see the way it crumpled and the tears that filled her eyes. She’d never imagined that a broken heart could fracture even more at those words. But that was all they were. Words. Words that truly meant nothing. Unless, unless. “And did you come to this dawning realization before or after the Inquisitor ended things?” If he had ended it, if he had made the choice...

Another long beat of silence that was answer enough. “It isn’t like that, Clara. It wasn’t-”

“Stop,” she said shaking her head. “Just stop.” Because she couldn’t listen to him lie to himself, let alone her. “It’s over, our little tryst. It was fun while it lasted. But it’s over and I’d rather not discuss it further. My sisters are missing, I have bigger things to worry about than your love life.” The words were harsh, and maybe out of line, she couldn’t stand the idea of listening to him professing his love to her for nearly two weeks, when she knew he’d go back to Skyhold and forget all about her.

Cullen fell silent, and they continued to ride for a few hours longer, or at least, Clara suspected it had been a few hours as the sun moved across the sky. “We’ll need to stop for the night,” Cullen said. They rode around a small outcropping of rocks, and Cullen dismounted and investigated it closer. “This’ll be fine,” he said and Clara kept her face averted when he helped her down, her body pressing up against his as the horse shifted his weight and bumped into her. 

Cullen’s hands lingered on her hips, but he took a step back and busied himself with the packs while Clara walked a few paces away. It was not going to be easy, and he’d known that already. His head was beginning to ache, but he ignored it. Forgoing the tent, the ground too unstable, he pulled down the bedroll and frowned. There was just the one he’d brought with him. Biting back a sigh, he tucked it under his arm.

Turning he found Clara staring out into the distance. He wished he had some way to instantly get her home to her family. Wished he could accompany her the entire way to make sure everything was alright. “Here,” he said, spreading out the bedroll. “I’m going to see about gathering some wood,” Cullen inclined his head toward a cluster of trees and bushes not far off.

Leaving her there with the horse, he walked the short distance, gathered what he could, and returned. Clara was standing by the horse, petting his big head. She’d cleared out a small space for a firepit, and set the water skein and the bag of rations on the bedroll. Tossing the wood down, Cullen crouched and set to work to build them a fire for when the sun vanished below the horizon. “There’s only the one bedroll,” she said quietly.

Cullen glanced at her, then returned to his work. “I know,” he said. “It’s yours. Someone has to stay up and keep watch anyways.” It had been easier, he thought, when he was alone. He’d found himself a place to tuck into, mostly hidden and been able to doze at least. But now, with Clara, he knew he wouldn’t let himself rest. Not when her safety was on the line.

He saw her move out of the corner of his eye, coming to stand beside the fire. “You’ve been awake all day,” she said and he looked up, saw her hands on her hips, her eyes narrowed. “And you’re just going to stay awake all night, and then what? Expect to be able to ride all day tomorrow?”

“It’s fine, Clara,” he reassured her, inclining his head toward the bedroll. “Eat something and you should drink some more water.”

She continued to stare down at him for a few more long moments then let out a hiss of breath. “Fine. Whatever,” Clara snapped and crossed to the bedroll.

The rest of the evening was spent in silence, the only sound was the crackling of the fire and distant animals. Eventually, Clara curled up on the bedroll and dragged the blanket over her shoulder. “Wake me up in a few hours,” she said. “I can keep watch for a while and at least then you can get a few hours of rest.” 

She had turned so her back was to him, and Cullen didn’t reply. When morning came, Cullen wasn’t any closer to figuring out how to gain Clara’s forgiveness, and she was only more annoyed with him when she woke up as the sun began to inch up over the horizon.

Cullen lost count of how many times he opened his mouth to speak, only to remain silent as they traveled that day. They made decent progress, and Cullen thought that they might be out of the desert wastes in another day if they pushed just a bit harder. That evening, Cullen found the old ruins he’d stayed in on his way out to the fortress. Only two walls remained, but they seemed sturdy, and it did afford them a bit more protection.

They ate and Cullen frowned as the hour grew later and later, and Clara remained sitting across the fire from him. “You should sleep,” he said and felt her eyes settle on him.

“I feel quite rested, thank you. Maybe you should get some sleep.”

“Clara,” Cullen sighed and rubbed his hand over his face. “I told you-”

“Do you not trust me?” Before Cullen could respond Clara continued. “Is that what it is?” 

Dropping his hands into his lap, Cullen shook his head. “Of course, I trust you.”

"Then stop being a stubborn ass."

There would be no winning this battle with her, he could see that from the look on her face. “Alright,” he relented and stood. He picked up his sword that had been at this side and carried it around to her side of the fire give to her. “If you hear _anything_ , wake me.”

Though Cullen didn’t think he’d sleep, he unrolled the bedding and stretched out on it beside the fire. Closing his eyes, he concentrated on taking slow deep breaths. Just a few hours. But sleep didn’t come. He lay there, hoping for a least a light doze. He heard Clara move, the crackle of more wood being put on the fire. Opening his eyes just a sliver, he looked at her and was surprised to find her staring at him.

He didn’t move, didn’t want her to realize that he was awake still. Firelight danced over her face, illuminating the tear that rolled down her cheek. Clara quickly brushed it away and turned her head, looking out over the surroundings once more.

Hours passed. A slow crawl in the desert night silence. It left Clara with far too much time to think. While Cullen had relented and laid down, she didn’t think he’d actually slept. But Clara said nothing, afraid that if she spoke to him she’d start shouting and never stop. She kept replaying his words over and over. _I love you. I love you_.

Stretched out on her back on the bedroll, Clara stared up at the stars. The pinpricks of light. She thought of that night they'd spent on his office floor, staring up at the night sky through the hole in the ceiling. “You’re only in love with the idea of me,” the words came out before she could stop herself. “You only want me, because you can’t have me. Just like it was with the Inquisitor.” The words were harsh, cruel even, and when Cullen said nothing, Clara turned onto her side away from him and wish their journey was over because she wasn’t sure how much more her heart could take.

It was late when they finally arrived in a small village. They’d spoken even less over the last day if that were possible. Cullen paid for the room, and with bags in hand, they went up the stairs to the too-small room with the single bed. “Take the bed,” Cullen said, not even looking at Clara as he dropped the bedroll before the fire that had already been lit though there was still a chill in the air.

Too tired to argue, because since Cullen had refused to sleep, Clara had absurdly decided to do the same. She was filthy, covered in dust, and had sand in places where sand should not be. But she didn’t care, and Clara fell face-first onto the bed as Cullen took off his boots and stretched out on the floor. 

Later in the night, Clara woke with a start. She sat up blinking in the dim light. The fire had burned out almost completely and she tried to figure out what had woken her. “Don’t,” she heard Cullen’s voice and frowned. “Clara, Clara, no, don’t listen to it.” Frowning, she leaned over the edge of the bed and looked to where Cullen lay, asleep, curled up with his arms around himself. “It isn’t real, it’s a demon.”

She wasn’t sure what to do. Wake him up? Let him continue to sleep knowing his talking would keep her awake? “Clara! I love you! Don’t listen to it!” The anguish in his tone made her heart hurt. She wanted to believe him, Ancestor’s, she wished he did love her. Silently, she slipped off the bed and padded over to crouch beside the fireplace. She stirred the coals, laid a few logs on the fire, and looked at Cullen. His voice was lower now, quiet muttering, but still begging, and again and again, he said her name. 

Unable to help herself, Clara reached out and stroked her fingers through his hair. “Shhh, hush, Cullen it’s okay,” she murmured. His face contorted, brow furrowing, and then it smoothed out, his body relaxed and his sleep shifted to something far more peaceful. Clara stayed there for a few moments longer, stroking his hair and soothing him before returning to the bed where she found it impossible to fall back asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things start getting better(sort of... but no really!) for these two stubborn dummies in the next chapter, promise!


	17. Chapter 17

Clara was grateful to be out of the desert as they began their journey the next day. It was still ridiculously hot, but there were trees and shade and more importantly, no sand. Cullen had been quiet all morning, which wasn’t particularly different from the past days, but she felt his eyes on her. Was he thinking about his dream? She wondered. What exactly had it been about? 

They ate a quick breakfast at the tavern before continuing on their way and it had been a few hours on the road and they hadn’t seen another person since leaving the village. “We should stop here,” Cullen said, leading the horse off the main road. She could hear the water as they followed a narrow trail to the creek. Dismounting, Cullen reached up and helped Clara down, though she was beginning to get more comfortable with the riding, it was still a long way to the ground. 

Turning she started to walk away, to head downstream where she could relieve herself in privacy. “Clara,” Cullen said and she turned, frowning at the sheathed dagger he held out to her. “Take this with you.” She looked from it to Cullen’s face. Clara lifted her brows, but he said nothing. Reaching up, she wrapped her fingers around it, but Cullen didn’t let go, just continued to stare into her eyes for several long seconds. “Don’t go far,” he said quietly and Clara inclined her head.

Finally, he released the dagger and she made quick work of fastening it to her belt, before walking away. Clara couldn’t wait to be home. Home. Her actual home. To see her sisters and her parents. She was worried sick about them. Once she’d relieved herself in the bushes, she walked over to the water and dipped her fingers in. It was cold and a part of her wanted to dive in headfirst. 

They hadn’t stayed at the last village long enough for a bath and Clara desperately ached for one. To be clean. How miserable would she be if she decided to douse herself in the ice-cold stream? In a few hours time? Probably very. And since she was pressed up against Cullen on the horse, he’d end up miserable too. The petty idea was tempting. Instead, she opted for splashing the clean water on her face before she began to make her way back to Cullen and the horse. 

But as she walked, Clara heard a voice that wasn’t Cullen’s. “Come now, tell us where the little chicky went.”

Crouching down low in the brush, Clara saw Cullen, his sword at his hip, still sheathed, standing a few feet from a man, who held a sword, but it wasn’t raised. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Cullen said, his voice utterly calm.

“Don’t play dumb,” the man said. “We saw you. Tell me where she went and maybe we’ll let you live.”

Heart pounding in her chest, Clara’s hand went to the dagger at her hip. He’d known, hadn’t he? He’d known they were being followed and that was why he’d asked her to take the dagger. Cursing silently, Clara tried to figure out the best way to help get them out of this mess. 

When hands grabbed onto her biceps she froze, her heart lodged in her throat. “Gotcha,” a voice hissed in her ear. Clara slammed her head back, heard the crunch of the man’s nose. He cursed, the words muffled by the blood and his hands going to cover his face. Drawing the blade from the sheath, Clara whirled around and held the tip to his throat.

“Up,” she said, using the blade and the slightest pressure to urge him to his feet. He towered over her, so pressing the blade to his throat only went so far. Moving quickly, she darted behind him, pressed the dagger to his back, then took his own weapon, a crude-looking ax, and directed him out of the bushes. 

“Did you find- what the bloody void happened to your face?” the other man said and Clara peeked out from behind the man in front of her to see Cullen’s lips curve into a grin as he drew his sword and raised it to the other man’s throat. 

“Are there any others?” Clara asked, lifting her foot to the back of Broken-nose’s knee. He went down with a grunt of pain and several nasty curses. “Now that isn’t a very nice thing to say about a lady,” she said, stepping closer to press the blade against his throat. He went silent at that.

The leader looked between Cullen, her, and Broken-nose. He seemed to be debating his chances of escape. “Drop your weapon,” Cullen instructed. The leader’s hand tightened, and then with a curse, he did as he was told. “Good,” Cullen said, then reached back to the horse who was only a foot away and withdrew a long loop of rope. “Now, tie up your friend to that tree.”

Another hesitation, but then the leader took the rope from Cullen and stepped toward Clara and Broken-nose. She saw the fury in his gaze and would have been worried if Cullen wasn’t right there, the sword still raised. Task done, the Leader turned to glare at them both. Cullen frowned at the battered and rusty ax Clara held and took it from her, before replacing it with his sword. He shoved the leader back until he was beside Broken-nose and made quick work of tying him up. Then with raised brows, he tugged at the restraints on Broken-nose and they easily came loose. “Did you think I’m that stupid?” he asked and ignoring the leader’s cursing, retied the other man. 

Standing up he looked down at the two men and shook his head. “I’ll be sure to alert the authorities when we reach the next village. Or… maybe I’ll forget.” 

“You can’t-you can’t just leave us out here!” the leader shouted. 

Cullen took the sword back from Clara and slid it into its sheath before turning to look at the duo. “And what would you have done with us? What would you have done to her?” he asked, a vicious rage in his voice that Clara had never heard before.

“We weren’t gonna do nothin’,” broken-nose muttered.

“Are we really just going to leave them?” Clara asked keeping her voice low as Cullen urged her back toward the horse.

“As I said, I’ll alert the authorities in the next village.”

“It could be hours before someone comes back for them-” she broke off at the look Cullen gave her. It wasn’t as if she and Cullen were the bad guys here. They’d had weapons and were going to do Ancestors knew what to both of them. At the very least, steal everything they had, at worst… she didn’t want to think of what the worst would have been. “Alright,” she murmured and slid the dagger into the sheath.

Cullen boosted her up onto the horse, then climbed on behind her, and they both ignored the shouts of the two men as they rode back out to the main road. “How long were they following us?” she asked after they had traveled for a while. 

“Since we left the last village,” Cullen told her. “I noticed them watching us when we were getting the horse ready.”

“Why didn’t you just tell me?”

“I had hoped I was wrong. When we stopped at the creek I didn’t speak up because I worried they were close enough to hear. It’s why I gave you the dagger. I knew you could protect yourself.” A part of Clara wanted to be angry, to rage at him for not saying something. But at the same time, his faith in her, his belief that she could take care of herself made her feel warm inside. After a few seconds, Cullen coughed quietly. “There’s uh… blood in your hair.” 

Clara let out a loud groan. “Gross. Disgusting. That is vile. I want a bath. A hot one, with gallons of soap.”

Cullen’s heart was still pounding in his chest. When the man had stepped out of the bushes, the blood dripping down his face he’d feared the worst. Terrified that he’d just killed Clara. When her head had peeked out the relief had been so strong he’d nearly gone weak in the knees. 

And all the while she’d been cool and collected. Just as he knew she would be. It was no wonder he’d fallen for this woman. Even if she didn’t believe it.  _ ‘You’re only in love with the idea of me. Just like with the Inquisitor.’ _ Harsh as those words had been, it only strengthened Cullen’s resolve. He was going to prove to her that she was more than that to him. 

They arrived in the next village a few hours later, and true to his word, Cullen informed someone of the two men tied to the tree. “We’ll send some boys out there to deal with it.” Then after a short break, they were off again. They passed through a handful of small towns and villages before it started to grow late.

With the horse stabled for the night, they got a room for themselves. “Why don’t you go get cleaned up. The owner said the hot water is endless.” Glancing around the room contemplated his next move. “I’ll see about getting supper.” Clara’s eyes lit up and Cullen ducked his head to hide his smile. It was the first time he’d seen even a hint of happiness since she had noticed him standing in that doorway. Clara took her bag and left the room and after a few minutes, Cullen left the room as well. He went down and spoke with the tavern owner. He had a very specific list of what he wanted, and he was hoping that they would be able to provide. 

That done, he returned to the room and was grateful Clara wasn’t back yet. He made quick work of visiting one of the private baths himself, before hurrying back to their room. Thirty minutes later, the door opened and Clara walked in. Her hair damp hair fell in loose curls against her shoulders and her skin was very pink. She wore a loose blouse and a long skirt that brushed the tops of her feet as she walked. “You took advantage of that hot water,” he commented.

A quiet laugh escaped her, a sound that made him smile and feel such relief. “How could I not? And whatever that is, it smells amaz-” she broke off as she stepped out of the entryway all the way into the main room. 

Cullen had debated, frantically trying to decide how best to show Clara that his feelings were not temporary. Starting with dinner. A picnic in front of the fire, reminiscent of the night Cullen suspected had been when everything had begun to change for him. Only with a few changes. Dwarven ale instead of wine, and other foods that she’d told him she loved.

“I know that you may not believe me now, but I love you,” Cullen told her. “I messed up, I know that. I had this amazing, beautiful, caring woman in my life, who I let go of for a fantasy. I will regret that every day for the rest of my life, Clara. That I caused you even an ounce of pain, it tears me up inside.”

Clara stepped further into the room, her eyes scanning over the blanket, over him. “How did-when-?” she shook her head.

“The tavern owner was very helpful.” 

Clara was silent for a moment. “Is that-” 

He offered her a smile and extended a hand out to her. “I’m sure they aren’t as good as your father’s, but I explained them as best I could to the cook.” 

“Cullen…” her voice was a whisper, but hearing his name on her lips gave him hope. 

“I did listen to you, to every word you said. I paid attention. I was just so foolishly caught up in what I thought I wanted. I eagerly looked forward to every time I saw you. I should have seen it sooner.” She still hadn’t moved forward, just kept staring at him, her eyes shining in the candlelight. “Come and eat,” he said softer.

Finally, Clara took a step forward, then another. But she didn’t reach out to take his hand. It stung, but he’d take things as slow as need be, anything to repair the damage he’d done. 

Settling down onto the blanket, Clara looked over the spread and her throat felt tight and her chest ached. The stuffed buns, that looked almost exactly like the ones her father made, stuffed with meat or cheese. A bowl of berries doused in honey and cream. The Dwarven ale that Clara had pronounced disgusting, and yet still her favorite. “Why?” she asked, her voice cracking. 

“Telling you how sorry I am is one thing,” he said, reaching out to brush his fingers along her cheek. “Showing you is another. I want to make you happy, to see you smile. I know it doesn’t fix what I did. But I’m hoping it’s a step in the right direction.” 

Giving her head a little shake, she looked at Cullen. He looked so earnest. He truly believed that he loved her and Clara wanted to hold onto that. Wanted to believe it too, except her heart still hurt too much. She knew that after they went their separate ways in just a few days, Cullen returning to Skyhold, her returning home, she’d never see him again. His duties were so much a part of him, that she couldn’t even begin to imagine him abandoning that to … what? Live a life doing what? Raising cattle? Working in a tavern? 

Another fantasy, she thought. But for both of them this time. A week of fantasy, before they parted. Cullen would move on, find someone else and likely forget about her, while she would… she would think fondly of their time together. “Thank you,” she murmured. “This is…” He would make someone very happy one day. “Thank you,” she said again, then picked up one of the berries, sticky and dripping with honey, and held it up to his lips.


	18. Chapter 18

The ale had gone straight to her head. It was her only excuse, she thought, for why she’d abandoned fretting about her sisters, in favor of letting Cullen feed her while she leaned into him before the fire. “I’ll make it up to you, Clara,” he promised and she felt herself falling even more in love with him.

Foolish, foolish woman she was. Silently, she cursed her soft heart. “Whatever it takes,” he vowed. Clara turned to him, her hands cupping his face. “One day, I’ll earn your forgiveness.” 

Shaking her head she leaned in closer, his stubble so long it was soft under her palms. “You don’t-” her voice cracked. “I forgive you. You… you stupid, wonderful man. You are forgiven.” Then she kissed him. Kissed him before he could say anything else. Before she could open her mouth and say something she’d regret. 

Just this one week. This one last week to enjoy what they would never have together again. “Clara,” he breathed her name against her lips as his arms went around her waist. “We should-” he broke off as she crawled into his lap. “Maker’s breath, Clara, Clara.” He fisted his hand in her hair and tugged her head back, forcing her to meet his gaze. “That isn’t - this isn’t why I did this, Clara.” 

She could barely breathe, her chest felt so tight as she held his stare. “I love you, Clara, it isn’t about the sex.” 

It would be so easy to fall into it, into him, and let herself believe. But the heartache would be so much worse. “I’ve missed you,” she whispered, letting her hands slide down along his throat, over his chest to rest against his stomach. 

Cullen released his hold on her hair to rest his hand on the back of her neck, his other hand came up to cup her jaw, his thumb stroking her lower lip. “You don’t believe me,” he said softly and shook his head a little when her lips parted. “It’s okay,” he murmured. “I hurt you. I’ve given you no reason to trust me. But you’re wrong in thinking that I’m only in love with the idea of you, Clara. I made a mess of things, but you have my solemn vow, I’ll make it right.” 

“You can’t, Cullen,” Clara said around the lump in her throat. “You can’t fix this because there is nothing to fix. You and I… we were never…” she swallowed hard. “Can’t we just enjoy the time we have? This week until we go our separate ways.” 

His brows drew together and he pursed his lips. “Tell me that you feel nothing for me anymore.” Clara opened her mouth to insist just that, but the words wouldn’t come. It was such a blatant lie that she couldn’t even force herself to speak it. “If you tell me you feel nothing, that I hurt you so badly there is nothing left for me to do to fix it, then I will accept it. Until then… I’m not giving up. I am not giving you up.” 

Tears burned the backs of her eyes as she stared at him. “And how do you expect this to work, Cullen?” she asked, voice soft because she didn’t want to hurt him. But he had to see. “You’re the Commander. You lead the Inquisition’s forces and they need you.” 

“And I need you,” he interrupted her. “All those months, you gave me a small bit of sanity. A bit of calm. An escape from the weight of my own duties. While at the same time being someone I could talk to, could confess my worries to. I know that I wasn’t that for you, but I will be Clara.” 

“What do you think is going to happen?” she slid her hands back up to cup his jaw. “That in a few months, once I know my family is safe, that I’ll just return to Skyhold? Go back to working in the laundry room while sneaking into your office a few nights a week so we can fuck on your desk?” His fingers flexed against her cheek and he frowned at her.

“That isn’t-”

“I’m not going back to Skyhold. My family may not need me, but I need them. I’ve been away too long and-” Clara gave her head a shake. “Can’t we just have this week? Then we’ll go our own ways. You’ll find someone who is part of that life.” She shifted in his lap, moving closer, to rock her hips against his. “This week can be our escape. Our moment out of time before we have to go back to the real world.” 

Clara felt Cullen’s body respond, the thick press of his erection through his trousers. “For now, Clara. I won’t give up so easily. But for now-” Then he was kissing her, and her head felt light as he tumbled her onto her back. Distantly, there was a clattering of dishes, but then Cullen was touching her, stripping her. Calloused hands and soft lips on sensitive skin.

He’d see. He’d realize, it might take a few months, but he’d move on, Clara thought, reassuring herself before Cullen lowered his head between her thighs and licked her until there were no thoughts left. When he moved up over her, Clara was balanced on the knife’s edge of pleasure. Her fingers held onto the blanket beneath her, and her heart felt as if it might beat out of her chest. “I love you, Clara,” he spoke softly and she felt a tear escape the corner of one eye. 

Their bodies fit together so perfectly, as he leaned down, his cock sliding between her folds. Cullen kissed the damp trail left from that tear and Clara let out a low breathy sound as he angled his hips and pushed inside. “We were made for each other,” he murmured, letting his hand slide along her throat, down her arm to take one of her hands that he laced his fingers with and lifted it to rest beside her head. 

He withdrew, slow, slow, until they were barely joined, then with such tender care, he pushed in again and repeated the same action with her other hand. “I love you,” Cullen breathed, his golden-brown gaze holding hers. Another slow thrust, followed by another. Then he leaned down and kissed her, and Clara knew that her heart was going to break again. That when they parted, she would mourn the loss of him the rest of her days. But that was a worry for another day. 

Wrapping one of her legs around his waist, she angled her hips, pushing up against him. The slow, measured movements only lasted so long, before Cullen was clinging to her, his hips driving harder and faster. She barely contained her shout of pleasure, and it seemed Cullen didn’t even bother to try. What was the point? They weren’t at Skyhold. They weren’t trying to keep anyone from discovering what they were doing any longer. 

Cullen held onto Clara, long after their pulses returned to normal. He pressed soft kisses against her throat, her jaw. To her lips. Maybe he was a fool, for hoping, for praying that he’d be able to make it right with her. If that were the case, then let him be a fool. She had dozens of reasons why they couldn’t be together, excuse after excuse. But she hadn’t said she didn’t care about him. If there were truly no hope of mending things between them, he would bow out. He would leave her and let her move on with her life. 

It would hurt, and Cullen didn’t think he’d ever get over her, but if it was what she asked of him, he’d do it. But all of her reasons, they meant nothing. He’d figure it out. He had his duties, yes, but Clara… Maker, she meant more than all of that. Kissing the swell of her breast he lifted his head and couldn’t help but smile. Eyes closed, lips parted, skin still flushed, Clara slept. 

Careful not to disturb her, Cullen shifted off her, then stood and drew the blankets down on the bed. Returning to where Clara lay, he gathered her into his arms and laid her out on the bed. He left her there and quietly tidied up the mess they’d made of the plates and remains of their supper. Cullen banked the fire, doused the candles, and then finally returned to the bed. 

Clara lay curled up on her side, hands tucked under her chin. He’d been such an idiot. He hoped that Clara never let him forget it either. That in five years she’d chide him for nearly letting her go. In ten years, she’d laughingly tell their children that their father had been a fool for not seeing what he had right in front of him. In twenty years, thirty years, they would spend lazy mornings in bed, recounting the lives they’d lived together. 

Finally crawling into bed beside her, Cullen wrapped his arms around Clara, her back against his chest. He pressed a kiss to the curve of her shoulder and let out a sigh as he felt a sort of peace wash over him. All those months, he could have had this. Could have spent every night with her in his arms, skin to skin, spent from their lovemaking. Sleep took him, and Cullen was certain it was the best night’s sleep he’d ever had. 

It was still dark when he felt Clara shift in his arms, turning slightly, then she went completely still, he wasn’t even sure she was breathing. “Clara?” he murmured, turning his head to bury his face against the back of her neck. He heard her draw in a breath, then felt her shudder as she released it. 

“I wish you’d spent every night in my bed, from the moment our little trysts started.” Cullen traced his fingertips along the curve of her shoulder. “I had a reason though, for not taking you to my bed.” He traced down her bicep, the bend of her elbow. “Not because I didn’t want you there. But because I thought…” along her forearm, the inside of her wrist to her palm. “I wanted to keep it separate. Your work, the job you spent your entire day doing. I thought,” he sighed, kissed her shoulder. “Down in my office, you didn’t have to clean anything. There were no beds to make or sheets to change. No work for you to need to even have a fleeting thought of. While at the same time, while I was stuck at my desk, returning letters, or figuring out who to send where, you were there. You were everywhere in that office and it gave me a small escape, even when you weren’t around.” 

Her fingers flexed against his, tightening, though she remained silent. “The Inquisitor, one night she started to slide into my lap while I sat at my desk. That was when I started to see it, to realize. I wouldn’t let her, couldn’t… it was our space. It doesn’t make up for it, I know.”

“You love her,” Clara whispered and Cullen shook his head. 

“No. She is the one I  _ thought  _ I loved, Clara. The one, who I was in love with the idea of. I didn’t know her, not truly. Not like I know you.”

Several long seconds of silence passed, and Cullen continued to press those little kisses against the back of her shoulder. “Then why didn’t you end it with her? Why didn’t you figure it all out, you’re so certain that I’m the one you love?”

She was crying, Cullen could hear it in her voice. Hear the pain and the tightness in her throat. “I had suspected for a few weeks, but, I kept telling myself, I’d get over you. Things would settle into place with Ellana. In Adamant… there was a moment. I thought I was going to die. I thought my time was up and my only thought was of you. I have so many regrets in my life, things I wished I’d done differently, but the biggest one, was losing you.”

A quiet, broken sob and Cullen tightened his arms around her, felt her shake with it. “But you didn’t end it. You still didn’t-”

“It was guilt then, she left Hawke behind in the Fade. She’d lost her entire clan. I felt… a responsibility to stay with her.” She didn’t say anything so Cullen pushed on. “Back in Skyhold, she found out about you, ended things, and… I was grateful. So grateful.” It was Cullen’s turn to fall silent now. He had to tell her. Knew she’d be hurt, but he couldn’t lie. “I went down to the laundry room. I didn’t know… I didn’t realize you were gone. You should be happy to know that Etta laid into me. I am certain she’ll never forgive me for hurting you.”

And if Etta couldn’t, then how could Clara. Pain tightened his chest and he rolled onto his back and let out a low curse. It would only be fair if Clara couldn’t forgive him, and maybe that was why she had so many reasons they couldn’t be together. Because he’d hurt her so badly, she’d never forgive him. Rubbing his hand over his face, Cullen closed his eyes. “Fuck, fuck. I  _ can’t  _ fix it, can I, Clara? And you’re just too kind to tell me I’m an asshole who doesn’t deserve you.”

Long minutes ticked by and the dread was threatening to swallow him whole. He’d screwed it all up beyond any repair. Maker, maybe that was exactly what he deserved. Lonesome misery. The bed beside him shifted and he thought he should get up, go to the floor and let Clara sleep for what little bit of the night was left. 

But instead, a small palm rested against his chest, right over the pained beating of his heart. “We have a week, Cullen,” she said quietly and Cullen let his hand fall from his face. “We get seven days. Can’t we just be happy that we get that?”

No, he thought. Because he wanted forever. “I told you, I forgive you,” she murmured. “I was the fool who went and let my heart get involved when we’d both already agreed it was to be just sex.” 

“I did, as well.”

Clara’s hand shifted up, her fingers pressing to his lips. “A week, Cullen. Just… give me this week.” 

Reaching up to slide his fingers into her hair, pushing it back from where it fell around her face. “I’ll give you anything, Clara. Just say the word.” She pushed back the blankets and crawled over him, straddling his waist and Cullen wrapped his arms around her. 


	19. Chapter 19

Clara sat on the edge of the bed, her socks in her hands, trying to work up the energy to pull them on. She was exhausted. Mentally, and physically. Cullen had - Ancestor’s - she felt utterly worshiped. And it broke her heart. She wanted to believe, wanted so desperately to accept his claims of love. But Clara just couldn’t quite let herself. 

Hearing the door, Clara looked up, saw Cullen step inside, a tray balanced on one hand as he closed the door behind him. He looked at her, smiled, and her heart fluttered in her chest. Setting the tray down he picked up one of the steaming mugs and carried it to her. “Splash of cream and honey,” he said and tears pricked her eyes because she couldn’t even remember having ever told him how she liked her tea first thing in the morning, and yet, it was exactly right.

Taking the mug, she curled her hands around it, felt the warmth seep into her fingers. This one week, she thought, and then she’d have to break her own heart and let him go. “Clara?” looking up she saw the concern on his face, in the slight furrow of his brow. 

“Thank you,” she said, lips curving into a smile for him. His face relaxed and he smiled back at her. Clara took a sip and fell just a little more in love with him as he turned to finish packing up their belongings. After setting aside the mug, Clara finished pulling on her socks, then her boots, and then stood up and crossed to where Cullen stood with his back to her.

Unable to help herself, she wrapped her arms around his middle and rested her cheek against his back. Cullen stilled for a moment, then his hands rested over hers and his entire body relaxed. He just sort of melted back against her and she heard him let out a long breath. They stayed like that for several long minutes before Cullen let out a sigh. “We should go,” he said, and Clara heard the reluctance in his tone. 

Clara withdrew, and Cullen turned, ducking his head as he cupped her face and kissed her so sweetly. Then they gathered their belongings, left the building, and headed down to the stables. “It’s going to storm,” Clara said, peering up at the dark clouds in the sky.

“Hopefully we can get ahead of it,” Cullen said, strapping their bags onto the saddle. Then he boosted Clara up, settled behind her, and wrapped his arms around her. 

They rode at a steady pace but only had been riding for about an hour when the downpour came. They were drenched almost instantly. Cullen drew his cloak around her as best he could, and she burrowed back against his chest. “Are you alright?” Cullen asked after a time.

Clara was shivering and doing her best not to. She felt soaked to the bone. “Are you?” she shot back because at least Cullen’s body provided some protection from the wind and the rain. 

“There isn’t another village for a few miles,” he said, ducking his head down to speak against her ear. “We could try and find shelter-”

“Keep riding,” she said shaking her head. “We both need a hot bath.” 

The storm had only just barely begun to let up as they reached the town. They got a room and Clara was happy to hear that they had baths available in the room. Dropping her belongings she practically ran for the small alcove to look and see. It wasn’t much, a simple tub, but twisting the knob, hot water gushed out. A moan of bliss escaped her as it poured over her hand. 

She heard Cullen chuckle and peered around the divider to see him picking her bag up from the floor where she dropped it to set it on the dresser with his own. Then he crossed to the hearth and crouched to build a fire. Desperate to be warm, Clara began tugging at her boots, then her sodden tunic. Her hair was soaked and water dripped down the back of her neck. 

“I’ll go see about something warm to eat,” Cullen said, his focus still on the fire. 

Clara didn’t know how he did it, how he retained so much composure while she felt like a half-drowned rat. He was just as wet as she was, worse even, since he’d taken the brunt of the wind at his back. Pushing her breeches down her legs was a struggle, the fabric wanting to cling to her legs. “You should take a bath first,” Clara murmured.

“No, I’ll let you-” Cullen stood, turned slightly, and stared, mouth slightly agape. It made Clara’s belly feel all fluttery. He wanted her, desired  _ her _ . 

“It’s big enough to share,” she told him, and in three strides he stood before her.

“Clara,” her name was a whisper on his lips as if he were awed by her. Tipping her head back to look up at him, she reached out to curl her fingers around the hem of his shirt. “Maker’s breath, you are… beautiful.” Cold fingertips brushed her shoulder, down her arm, then his hands joined hers and they tugged at his tunic until they could pull it over his head. Next his boots and his trousers, then Cullen gathered her against him, lowered his head, and kissed her soundly.

When she shivered he drew back and nudged her toward the tub. “In,” he ordered. He climbed in behind her and tugged her back against his chest as she settled into the hot water. She all but melted against him. “I’m sorry we didn’t get further today,” he said brushing a kiss against her shoulder. 

“It isn’t your fault,” she said softly, one of her hands resting on his knee.

“But I know how worried you are about your sisters.” 

Clara let out a quiet sigh. “I would have expected it more of Corinna than Minka, and truthfully, it isn’t Minka I’m worried about. Iva… it’s just so unlike her. She isn’t stupid, she knows her way around the village, but it scares me that she’ll get into trouble, try to hide somewhere she shouldn’t, or that someone might hurt her.”

“I want to reassure you, tell you they’ll be fine,” Cullen’s words were soft.

“But you know as well as I do… probably better than I do, just how dangerous it can be.” They were both quiet for long moments as Cullen trailed his fingertips up and down her arm. “They’ll be fine,” Clara finally said. “They’ll be fine. I have to believe that.” Because anything else was abhorrent. 

“Well,” Cullen said. “If they are even half as clever or strong as their eldest sister, I absolutely believe that.” 

His words were so unexpected, tears came to Clara’s eyes. It wasn’t fair that he could say such things that they seemed to burrow right into her heart. Like an arrow straight to the chest. Shifting forward, she drew up onto her knees and turned around to face him. “You’re going to break my heart,” she rasped out, cupping his face between her palms. 

“Never,” he swore with such adamant refusal. “Never, Clara.” 

Clara wanted to believe him, so desperately. And maybe, maybe… but it didn’t change the fact that he’d go back to Skyhold, return to his duties as the Commander. Lowering her head, she kissed him, claimed his mouth. Beneath the water, Cullen’s hands slid over her thighs, her hips, he cupped her bottom and tugged her closer. 

Oh, how she wanted to believe him. But if it turned out that she was just some passing fancy. If he had some dawning realization down the line that no, he didn’t love her - she couldn’t do it. Couldn’t let herself trust him. Couldn’t just go back to Skyhold and be the laundress again and Cullen’s mistress. Drawing back she looked down at him. 

Cullen reached a damp hand up to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. “Tell me, Clara, how do I convince you? I’ll do anything.” 

“I don’t know if you can.” Clara gave her head a shake. “I want to… Ancestor’s, Cullen, I want to. But I just can’t see how it can work out. You’re going back to Skyhold and I’m going home. You have your duties and I… I’m going home.”

“We’ll figure it out.” Cullen seemed so certain of it. 

“Cullen,” she whispered his name and rested her forehead against his shoulder. She should just accept the inevitable heartbreak and give in. He pressed a kiss to the side of her face and she heard the splash of water as he lifted his hands, reached for something, and then a moment later Cullen’s hands slick with soap began to rub over her back, along her arms. 

He nudged her upright again, worked the soap along her collarbone, down her to her breasts where he cupped the weight of each, kneaded the heavy flesh. Clara let out a soft moan, arching into his touch. There was an intimacy to it. More than just an erotic touch to bring them to pleasure. His hands went down over her stomach, her thighs, and Clara finally reached out and grabbed the bar of soap. She worked it between her hands until they were covered in a thick lather, then she began to repay Cullen the favor. 

She rubbed over taught skin and strong muscle. Traced scars and freckles. “I don’t want to be the consolation prize. The one that you’re settling for.”

Clara’s murmured words were a punch to the gut. Her head downcast, she refused to meet his gaze, until Cullen cupped her jaw, angled her head up. Tears lined her eyes and Cullen wasn’t sure how he’d ever truly fix it. Other than simply being there for her, showing her every day that she was the woman he wanted, she was his choice. 

He didn’t know how they were going to make it work yet, with her in Westwend and him returning to Skyhold. But he would never ask her to chose him over her family. Cullen had his duties, so much was at stake currently, and they still needed to defeat Corypheus.

But after, once that was done? 

Cullen had spent so long devoted to the Chantry. To his duties. He didn’t know how to be anything else. But for Clara, Maker, he’d do anything.

“You were never the consolation prize, Clara. You always came first, even before I realized what I felt for you.” Leaning in he pressed his forehead to hers. “Besides, do you really think I’d leave Skyhold when so much is at stake, when we’re on the cusp of battle with Corypheus, to spend two weeks traveling just to find you if I were simply settling for you?” 

Clara pulled back a little, held his gaze and Cullen stroked his thumb along her lip. “If I only wanted someone to warm my bed, I am sure I could have found a willing partner in Skyhold. Though it wouldn’t have been anyone from the laundry room, I’m fairly certain they all hate me. And judging from all my ruined clothes, I’d be risking life or limb to even suggest it.”

The laugh that escaped Clara’s lips was unexpected, but it drew a smile to Cullen’s lips. “You are the woman I chose, Clara. Always.” She put her hand on his chest, her fingers spread over his heart and Cullen covered it with his own. “My heart, it is yours. No one else's.”


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> after posting a new chapter every other day for the entirety of this story so far I feel terrible for taking so long the last two chapters! But suddenly I need Cullen and Clara to be happy - NOW - so I had to rework major plot points! yeesh! Happiness abounds! only a minor bit of angst to come.

The next few days passed pleasantly. The weather was fair, and Clara hadn’t continued to oppose Cullen and his claims of loving her. Not that he believed he’d fully convinced her yet. That would take time, time that he was quickly running out of. He made a point of giving her things as they traveled. Little trinkets, a flower when they’d stop for a rest, a small rock with a striking marble of colors. Every night they went to bed together and would make love and then Cullen would hold her in his arms and silently pray to the Maker, to Andraste, to the Ancestors. Anyone who may listen.

Each day they grew closer to the meeting place, where they would go their separate ways. Cullen dreaded that day, but he knew Clara needed to return home, to see that her family was safe, while Cullen had no choice but to return to Skyhold. But once that was done, as soon as Corypheus was defeated…

Cullen looked to where she stood, a dark shape against the backdrop of the horizon as the sun began to go down. The slight breeze caused her hair and the hem of her cloak to sway. They had stopped earlier than they usually did most days at Clara’s insistence and he wasn’t about to argue. They had already shared a meal at one of the taverns before Clara suggested a walk. 

She’d hurried ahead a moment ago, noticing the view at the top of the incline, and Cullen simply watched her for long seconds before continuing up to stand beside her. Clara leaned against his side and Cullen slipped his arm around her shoulders. “It’s beautiful,” she murmured and Cullen had to agree. Not just the view that was gorgeous. Rolling hills with trees as far as the eye could see, the sky a vibrant blend from rich blue to pale yellow with shades of red, pink, and purple in between. But that moment, standing there with Clara, her weight against him, her warmth seeping into his side, that made it beautiful to him. 

Ducking his head he pressed a kiss to the top of her head and then they just stood there watching. When the sun had sunk nearly halfway, Clara finally stirred. “We should head back before it gets too dark,” she commented and Cullen smiled a little.

“I know you can see just fine,” he commented. “But I appreciate the consideration.”

Clara turned, looking up at him and they stayed like that for a few moments longer before she slipped her hand into his and they began to make the trek back down into the village proper and to the place where they were staying the night. “Go sit,” Clara murmured, nudging Cullen toward the oversized plush chair before the fire. She’d been quiet all evening, and Cullen was bracing himself for her to renew her arguments. So when she appeared in front of him long moments later, two cut crystal glasses in hand, he was startled.

Cullen took one of the glasses that had a heavy splash of what looked like whiskey and was even more surprised when she settled into his lap, the chair more than big enough for her to sit sideways, her legs draped over his. Clara leaned into his chest and Cullen wrapped his arm around her back. The fire crackled, he sipped the whiskey and tried to muster up the courage to ask her what exactly was wrong when she tilted her head back to look up at him. “What is it?” he asked gently. 

She pursed her lips, then drew in a deep breath. “I love you.” He blinked, certain he’d heard her incorrectly. “I love you,” she said it again, louder this time and Cullen set aside his glass so he could tuck his knuckles under her chin. “I love you.” Her jaw trembled and Cullen’s chest felt tight.

“I love you,” he echoed her words and leaned in to press a tender kiss to her lips. “We’ll figure it out, Clara,” he vowed and her lips lifted into a small smile.

“I believe you,” she whispered, setting aside her own glass to cup his face between her palms. “I love you, Cullen.” He thought his heart might burst, he was so overjoyed and relieved to hear her say those words. “Take me to bed,” she murmured against his lips. Not breaking the kiss, Cullen shifted forward on the chair, one arm around Clara’s back, the other under her knees he stood, felt her soft gasp against his lips, and took advantage, slipping his tongue between her parted lips. 

Grateful the bed was only a few feet away, Cullen bumped into it and then finally broke the kiss. He drew back enough to look into her eyes and then he dropped her. Clara landed on the bed, bounced and her laughter warmed his heart. She grinned up at him and then scrambled backward on the bed until she lay in the center and lifted her hand to crook a finger at him. “Come here, Commander,” she said, her voice husky.

“Commander, is it?” he asked, drawing off his boots before he rested a knee on the bed and reached out to grab one of her ankles. He tugged, dragging her back down the length of the bed. Clara made a quiet humming sound as he made quick work of unlacing her boots and tossing them aside, and then he crawled up over her, his elbow resting beside her head. 

Clara looked up at Cullen as he moved over her, her thighs bracketing his hips. She was scared, utterly terrified of the heartache that she felt was inevitable, but Cullen was so insistent, adamant that they could make it work, arguing, refuting it, it was exhausting. They only had a few days left together, and Clara wanted to savor every moment of it. 

Pushing her hands beneath his shirt she smoothed her hands up his sides, bunching the fabric as she went. When she had pushed it up as far as she could, he reared back, yanking it over his head before dropping back down over her. His hand flirted with the hem of her tunic, inching it up just barely, his fingertips grazing the soft, sensitive flesh. 

Then he shifted down, pressed a kiss to that strip of skin, and painstakingly slowly nudged her shirt up, kissing every bit of exposed skin as he went. Soft barely-there kisses alternated with open-mouthed sucking kisses that sometimes came with the gentle scrape of teeth. Clara was trembling beneath him before he’d even reached the curve of her breasts. “Cullen, Cullen,” she panted, her fingers tangling in his hair. Once her shirt and breast band were gone, he worshiped her breasts the same way, and it was blissful torment. Clara clawed at his back, her legs wrapped around his waist and she arched, trying to rock her hips against his, and gratefully, Cullen obliged. 

“Cullen,” her voice wavered, because she was so close, almost there, teetering at the edge of orgasm. 

“Yes,” Cullen breathed, his lips hovering over one taut nipple. “That’s it, Clara, come for me.” One of his hands rested against the small of her back, shifting the angle just enough. Her back bowed and a strangled cry escaped her lips and all the while, Cullen kept up that rocking of his hips. When she couldn’t bear it any longer, she pushed at his chest, his name a breathy whisper before she rose up over him. 

“I love you,” now that she’d said it, she never wanted to stop. Clara never would have expected when she’d first met him when they had first started having their secret little trysts, that she would fall so utterly in love with him. She hadn’t expected the heartbreak either. But he made her hopeful, made her believe. 

He smiled up at her, warmth in his eyes, the love so evident on his face. Leaning down to kiss a trail over his chest, down and down until she reached his waistband. Clara undid the laces, tugged and he lifted his hips, helped her pull them off, then she knelt there between his thighs, her fingers dancing over them as she inched them closer to his thick erection, hard and curved up against his stomach. 

Curving her hand around his length she began to stroke him, slow, measured strokes without breaking eye contact. Clara licked her lips, noticed Cullen’s hands clench in the bedding, and ever so slowly lowered her head. He breathed her name, his entire body tense beneath her. For a split second, she wondered if the Inquisitor had done this for him, if she’d taken him in her mouth, let him spill himself on her tongue. 

As soon as the thought came, she banished it. It didn’t matter what he and the Inquisitor had done. Because Cullen wanted her. He’d abandoned his duties, raced over miles of desert, all for her. Clara flicked out her tongue again, this time teasing it over the head of his cock. He let out a strangled sound and she grinned, repeating the action again and again until sweat slicked his body and he was trembling, her name a plea on his lips. 

“Wicked,” he panted, and then his head punched back against the bed as she finally, finally took him into her mouth and began to suck. She quickly found her rhythm, her head bobbing in time with her fist around the length of him. It was only a matter of minutes before he was gasping her name again, one of his hands finally leaving the bedding to tangle in her hair. “Clara!” it was a shout, a warning. 

She swallowed and again as his cock pulsed between her lips. Her own breathing felt ragged as she licked him clean and crawled back up the length of his body. Cullen’s eyes were closed as he lay panting quietly. “Maker’s breath, Clara,” he rasped and she smiled, pressing a kiss to his bare shoulder. 

“Hmm, did you enjoy that?” she asked, and then let out a yelp of surprise as he flipped her over, and his hand delved beneath her breeches, into her smalls. She hadn’t realized how wet she’d become until Cullen groaned and two thick fingers plunged inside. There was no teasing, no light caresses. His thumb found her clit, his fingers thrust and rubbed inside her, hitting just the right spot, and Cullen’s lips closed around one of her nipples. 

The orgasm was sharp, abrupt, and she cried out, her hips arching up toward his hand. He didn’t stop, didn’t let up, and Clara was utterly lost to the pleasure. One of her hands wrapped around his bicep, clinging to it as if it were all that kept her on that bed, in that room. It was a blur, everything around her ceased to exist, save for the man crooning her name softly, whispering words of praise and love against her skin. 

She didn’t know when he’d dragged off her trousers, had no memory of it. But she felt him move over her, his cock hard again, and so slowly he pushed inside. Clara forced her eyes open, met his, and clung to him. The way they fit together, his body hard and toned against her soft curves, that moment, their joining, it felt so perfect, so reverent that tears filled her eyes. “I love you, Cullen, Ancestors, I love you.” 

His own eyes shown with tears as he looked down at her, his face cast in the warm glow of the fire. “I love you, Clara. So much.” Then he lowered his head, took her mouth in a kiss that she felt down to her toes, to the core of her soul. _We’ll figure it out_ , she thought distantly. _We’ll figure it out._


	21. Chapter 21

Clara stood, leaning against a short fence waiting for Cullen to return with their horse. She felt happy. A hope kindled inside her that they could actually have something together. When she spotted him her heart skipped a beat. Warmth filled her and she felt ridiculous. He was scowling, not looking at her, but glancing at something behind him. All that warmth turned to worry as she wondered if they were going to have another run-in with would-be thieves. 

Except, as he grew closer, she noticed the creature trotting after him. A cat, barely more than a kitten really. Small and gangly, its dark fur matted. But it was moving as fast as its little legs could carry it trying to keep up. When Cullen came to a stop in front of Clara, he grabbed their bags and began fastening them to the saddle. “You made a friend,” Clara commented as the cat caught up and began trying to climb Cullen’s leg. She pressed her lips together to hide her smile because Cullen did not look pleased about the situation.

“I made the mistake of giving it the last of my breakfast.” 

Clara crouched, gently pulling it from Cullen’s pant leg while it mewed loudly. “Ohh, you poor baby,” she crooned. 

Cullen shot a look over his shoulder. “Don’t encourage it,” he groused and Clara grinned at him. “Come on, we should go. We’re already getting a late start.”

“And whose fault is that?” Clara asked, her voice lilting as she nuzzled the kitten’s head. After all, it was Cullen who woke her with soft kisses and then took her on her hands and knees until she was keening. She shot him a look and lifted her brows. 

“I didn’t hear you complaining.” She laughed because no, she hadn’t complained one bit. Stepping toward the horse, Cullen frowned. “You can’t mean to keep it,” he said looking at the cat.

“Of course not,” she said. “It’s yours.” He spluttered a denial. “You can’t just leave it, it’s all alone, Cullen. You fed it, now it’s yours.” Clara handed it over to him, then with little effort pulled herself up into the saddle. “Come on,” she wiggled her fingers, hands waiting for him to return the cat.

“Clara,” he shook his head. “What am I supposed to do with a cat?” he asked, tone incredulous. 

“You’re a smart man, you’ll figure it out. Now give him here.” He stared up at her and she just stared back, waiting. Long seconds ticked by and then with a quiet sigh, he relented, passing the small bundle of fur up to her before climbing onto the horse behind her. Clara settled back against Cullen’s chest and the cat immediately made itself comfortable, tiny claws digging into her shirt, his head on her shoulder. 

They rode for a few hours, the cat utterly content against Clara’s chest, and she was content too. It was likely their last day together. She knew they were close to the meeting place, but hadn’t wanted to ask, and Cullen hadn’t said anything about it either. They stopped for lunch, and the cat explored but didn’t go far, and when it climbed up onto Cullen’s lap, she watched as he reluctantly fed it bits of his food. “He needs a name,” Clara commented, her hand against her cheek, watching the two of them. How long would it be before she saw him again? She couldn’t help but wonder, while at the same time that nagging thought, that dreadful voice in the back of her mind whispered that this was it. Once they went the separate ways, she’d never see him again. 

Cullen shot her a look as if to say that it wouldn’t need a name if she hadn’t insisted they bring it, but she just smiled sweetly at him. “I’ll think about it,” he grumbled. 

It was early evening when they rode into town and Clara saw the name of the village painted on a large building. Her heart seemed to lodge in her throat. A moment later, she spotted the two horses, their saddles bearing the sign of the Inquisition. Clara felt like she couldn’t breathe and tears pricked her eyes as Cullen drew their horse up beside the others. The riders were nowhere in sight, but a tavern was across the way and she imagined they were in there, waiting. 

“It’s no use leaving tonight, we won’t get far before we’ll have to stop,” she found herself saying, her hands moving to rest over Cullen’s where they had moved to rest on her waist. “It would be better to just leave first thing tomorrow.” Because she wasn’t ready to let him go. Couldn’t bear the thought of leaving him, so much so, that for a fleeting moment, she thought of abandoning her return home. Surely, her sisters were fine. 

She felt Cullen press a kiss to her shoulder and his arms tightened around her. “Clara,” he said her name so gently that it tore at her heart.

“Please?” her voice cracked and he hugged her tighter.

“First thing in the morning,” he said and they sat like that for long, long moments. When the two came out of the tavern, a man and a woman, Cullen informed them that they wouldn’t leave until the morning. 

“Yes sir,” they said, and then they were gone. With the horse stabled, they got a room, and Clara was restless. She paced while Cullen sat on the edge of the bed watching her, elbows on his knees, his hands clasped. The kitten had darted under the bed and she could see a paw batting at the hem of the bedding. 

“Clara,” Cullen said softly but she ignored him, shaking her head.

“No,” she said. She wasn’t ready for this. She felt overwhelmed and wanted to weep.

“Clara, love.” Clara stopped, turned to look at him, and just sighed. “What can I do to make it better?” he asked, and she stepped up to him, standing between his legs and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. Cullen slid his around her waist and tipped his head back to look at her. Heaving a breath, she lowered her head to press her forehead against his. A part of her selfishly wanted to beg him not to return to Skyhold. But she couldn’t ask that of him, so she just held onto him. 

Then hours later, long after supper, and the sun had set, Clara and Cullen lay in bed chest to chest. The room was dark and he traced his fingers up and down her spine again and again. It would likely be months at least before she saw him again. “You should marry me,” the words just came out with no forethought. Cullen looked just as stunned as she felt. 

“You want to marry me?” he asked.

Clara remained silent for a moment, and then she nodded. “Yes, I think you should marry me,” she repeated. 

It was Cullen’s turn to go quiet. Long seconds ticked by, then he leaned in and brushed a soft kiss to her lips. “I saw a chantry down the road. Get dressed.” He rolled away from her and Clara blinked in surprise.

“Now?” she asked, sitting up and tossing her legs over the edge of the bed. Cullen tugged on his trousers and then started to rifle through his bag for a clean tunic. 

“Yes now, why not?”

Clara blinked, tears brimming. He meant it. He would marry her right that second. Cullen yanked his tunic over his head, then turned and looked at her, waiting. She opened her mouth, snapped it shut and then she laughed. “Okay,” she rushed to her own bag, dragged out the nicest, cleanest thing she could find. Fitted leggings, a tunic, and a vest that fit her well. Shoving her feet into her boots she looked up and Cullen was ready, waiting for her, he held out his hand and she took it. 

It was late, but thankfully not so late that no one remained at the chantry. It was a blur that Clara barely remembered. The only part that was crystal clear were the Mother’s words, pronouncing them joined, and then Cullen was kissing her, soft and sweet and she thought her heart may explode. 

They returned to their room, stripped, and tumbled into bed once more. It was unreal. “Did we really just do that?” Clara asked, once more chest to chest, but now her thigh was hooked over his hip, his cock hard as he rocked in slow shallow strokes against her core. 

“We can do it again if you’d like,” he offered and she cupped his face, tugging his head down to kiss him. 

“I never took you for-” she angled her hips slightly, felt him push inside and her breath hitched, her nails bit into his arm. “Someone to do something so impulsive.” 

Cullen ducked his head, licked a trail up her throat to gently nip at her ear. “I told you, I would do anything for you.” 

“Do you know what I want? More than anything?” 

“Tell me,” he palmed her rump, adjusting the angle just slightly, enough that Clara knew she wouldn’t last long. 

“Love me,” she breathed out, meeting his gaze in the dark room. “Just… love me.”

Cullen’s hand moved to cup the back of her head as he claimed her mouth in a kiss that was deep and left her gasping. “Until the day I die, Clara, I will love you. And whatever comes after, I’ll love you then as well.”


	22. Chapter 22

Cullen slept very little that night, in favor of memorizing every detail of Clara’s sleeping face. His wife. _ Maker, he’d married her _ . It had been impulsive, to say the least, but anything to prove to her, to show her that he adored her, that he wanted to be with her. At some point, the cat scrambled up onto the bed and made himself comfortable on Cullen’s pillow. 

He would return to Skyhold, see it through, defeating Corypheus, helping the Inquisitor in any way that he could. But as soon as that was done, he had a choice to make. It really wasn’t much of a choice. His duties as Commander and the Inquisition, or the woman he loved with every fiber of his being. 

It wasn’t the life he’d imagined, though, for most of it, he hadn’t much thought beyond the present. Being a Templar had been everything until he’d left, and then his focus had shifted, but it was still more or less the same thing. The fantasy of the life he’d thought he wanted with Ellana hadn’t been much different either. 

But Clara… Clara, he wanted to take her home to meet his own siblings and their families. He wanted to meet Clara’s sisters and parents. Cullen wanted a house and a family. Comfortable evenings at home, and cozy mornings spent in bed. He did want to marry her again, with their families there with them to bear witness. 

Clara stirred as the sun began to creep into the room, twisting slightly she blinked up at him, her brows drawing together and then a soft smile curved her lips. “Hello, my wife,” he murmured and her smile grew but then vanished the next moment. 

“You’ll be careful,” she said, her voice a little hoarse as she reached up to trace her fingers along his jaw.

“And you’ll write to me as soon as you’re home to let me know that your sisters are safe.” Clara gave a short nod. They lay there for a few moments longer before Clara heaved a sigh and rolled out of the bed. Cullen followed suit. He found himself watching her, watching her drag her breeches up her legs and shimmy into them. She pulled a tunic over her head and finally seemed to notice his gaze.

“What?” she asked, brows lifting.

“You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen,” he said and her cheeks turned rosy pink. Clara crossed to him, where Cullen stood, clad only in his trousers, and rested her hands on his waist. She tipped her head back and Cullen lowered his, not caring that he had to stoop, to hunch his shoulders to kiss her properly. 

“Don’t you dare forget it,” she murmured against his lips. Then she withdrew and returned to the task of dressing, and packing her bag once more, and Cullen did the same. 

Cullen thought of abandoning his duties, simply going with Clara to her home, but he wouldn’t, he couldn’t. Not yet. He had to see it through to the end. Bags finally packed and ready to go, Cullen looked at Clara where she stood, holding the kitten in her arms. “You should take him,” he said, inclining her head, but she just smiled and shook her head at him. 

“No, you’re taking the beast with you. You need him.” He still didn’t know what exactly he was supposed to do with the creature. He’d never had a particular fondness for cats, but Clara wanted him to take it, then he would. 

When they walked outside and to the stable, they found the Inquisition soldiers waiting and ready. Clara remained quiet, her head down as he passed her bags over to be fastened to the horse she would ride. “You will stay with her in Westwend as long as she has need of you,” Cullen ordered the duo who inclined their heads. 

Turning back to Clara he could tell she was crying before he even saw the tears on her cheeks. Her shoulders were curved forward, her face pressed against the kitten’s head. “Clara,” he said softly and she looked at him. “I’ll see you again, very soon,” he promised and she jerked her head in a nod. Cullen wrapped his arms around her, hugged her tightly, and pressed a kiss to her lips that tasted of her tears. “I love you,” he breathed.

“I love you too,” she whispered, pressing the cat into his arms before stepping back and wiping at her cheeks. Clara mounted the horse, her new companions joined her and he watched, heart heavy, as they bid a last farewell before they rode away. Cullen watched until he couldn’t see them any longer, hand absently stroking the fur of his new pet. Then finally, heaving a sigh, he climbed into the saddle and rode toward Skyhold, desperately missing the press of Clara’s back against his chest. 

  
  


Clara’s companions were kind if a bit quiet. Which left her plenty of time to worry and fret, about Cullen about her sisters. But they made good time and rode into the town she grew up in late one afternoon. They rode up to the house and Clara took it in. Not much had changed, the forge looked shut up for the day, which had a pit of dread hollowing out her belly. But the gardens looked well-tended. Scrambling down from the horse she was halfway across the front yard when the front door flew open and a figure came sprinting out.

Clara met her sister halfway. Minka barreled into her chest, strong arms going around her middle and a sob tore free from Clara’s throat as she held her baby sister. She was alright, she was safe. She was home. “You came, you came!” Minka exclaimed, drawing back, a smile on her face. 

Cupping it between her palms Clara looked her over, took in every detail. From her hazel eyes to the short crop of brown hair. Too long, Clara thought, her heart aching. It had been too long since she’d seen them all. “Iva?”

“She’s inside,” Minka drew back, grabbing Clara’s arm to drag her inside. “Magda had the baby, it’s a boy.” 

But Clara stopped her, looked over at the Inquisition soldiers. “We’ll get a room in town and speak with you later,” one of them said, and then Clara let Minka continue to pull her in through the house and out to the back yard, where she found the rest of her family. Then she was crying, because she was home, surrounded by her family, and Cullen wasn’t there, and she wanted him to be. 

“Oh, my baby,” her mother stood, gathering Clara against her and Clara hugged her back as tightly as she could, feeling like a child again. 

“What were you two thinking?” Clara demanded a while later, as she sat on the bench, cradling Magda’s son in her arms, Iva settled close, her head resting against her shoulder. 

“We wanted you to come home,” Minka told her, tone indignant.

Clara gave her an incredulous look, then shot the same one at Iva, who fluttered her lashes, the picture of innocence. “You could have just asked,” she told them. “I was worried sick.”

“We did ask,” Magda told her. “You always had an excuse for why you couldn’t come home.” 

“I could throttle the lot of you,” Clara groused but tilted her head to press a kiss to the crown of Iva’s head. Because they were right. Clara always had a reason that stopped her from coming home. But now she was home and surrounded by her family. 

  
  


Cullen stared at his desk, taking in the piles of papers, the reports and missives that had piled up in his absence. Guilt was a heavy weight on his shoulders. All he could think about was Clara, his hope that she had made it home safe, that her sisters were alright. More than all of that was how much he missed her. The cat seemed to miss her as well, though it would settle for curling up against him, as it currently was wedged between his leg and the arm of the chair.

A light knock had him looking up to the open door. Ellana stood there, leaning against it. “Mind if I come in?” she asked.

“Of course, what-” he moved to stand, worried that something might be wrong, but she just waved her hand at him.

“I just wanted to ask, to see, how did it go?” She came to stand on the other side of his desk and looked at her with a slight frown. The Inquisitor looked tired, worn out. “Were you able to find her?”

“Yes,” Cullen inclined his head. “She had a family emergency though, and needed to return home.” 

Ellana gave a little nod of her head. “But… you worked it out? Did she forgive you? If there is anything I can do… can say-” 

A small smile curved his lips, thinking of that last night together. He’d married her. Maker’s breath, he could hardly believe it. “That isn’t necessary, but thank you.” 

Inclining her head, she smiled back at him. “I’m happy for you, Cullen. I’m glad that-” she broke off. “I’m glad you’ve found that happiness.”

“And what of you?” he asked. “How have you been?” 

Again, she gave a dismissive wave of her hand and shook her head. “I fine,” she told him. “Will she be returning to Skyhold once she’s seen to her family matter?”

“No,” Cullen said and then hesitated. He’d made the choice already. Knew that there was no other option for him. “And as soon as Corypheus is defeated, once the threat is over, I’ll be stepping down as Commander and will join her.” 

Ellana’s lips parted in surprise and she just stared at him for long seconds. “Oh,” she breathed. “You… you really do love her.” Because Ellana had to know how important his duties were to him, that this life was all he’d ever known.

“I do,” Cullen said and he thought there might have a sheen of tears in her gaze, but it was gone in the blink of an eye.

“Of course, I’ll-I’ll do everything I can to move this along then.” Turning she headed for the door, but hesitated, hand on the door frame. “I truly am happy for you Cullen,” she told him, and then she was gone and Cullen stared down at his desk, weight in his chest lessening at the thought of rejoining Clara soon.


End file.
